If, then, something like attention deficit hyperactivity disorder is a pathology, it is a pathology of late capitalism – a consequence of being wired into the entertainment-control circuits of hypermediated consumer culture. – Capitalist Realism, Mark Fisher
Capital has wounded me The state is its gun I am forever bleeding The day I was born till now
“Capitalist ideology in general, Žižek maintains, consists precisely in the overvaluing of belief – in the sense of inner subjective attitude – at the expense of the beliefs we exhibit and externalize in our behavior. So long as we believe (in our hearts) that capitalism is bad, we are free to continue to participate in capitalist exchange. According to Žižek, capitalism in general relies on this structure of disavowal. We believe that money is only a meaningless token of no intrinsic worth, yet we act as if it has a holy value. Moreover, this behavior precisely depends upon the prior disavowal – we are able to fetishize money in our actions only because we have already taken an ironic distance towards money in our heads.” – Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism
Hi to you who is reading.
How is it going? Is it going? Where is it going? What is the ‘it’ that is going? Has it gone yet?
Would you like it to go? Or rather, how would you like it to go? Is is yet to go?
I want to ask you, dear reader, this:
Why are you not commenting on my blog posts???????????
WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?
I appreciate from the bottom of my bottom part that is the part people mention when writing this kind of sentence all the love and thumbs up and likes and props you all are leaving my blog posts. You know, I have had this blog site for many, many, MANY, years! YEARS!
But now I am blogging more. And I am amazed anyone at all comes to read.
Off topic: I tried to change my ‘ABOUT ME’ but it can’t be changed; I have done some youtube videos, but wish to start a new youtube channel, so please do not get the impression that I am some kind of big time vlogger at youtube or something. It has not been going well (you know, the same thing I asked you earlier, if the thing is going for you or not…)
Anyway, am amazed. Anyone reads. I hope you read. Wouldn’t like to think you just come here to leave your likes to get more people to go to your site. Ahem. I mean, sure, you can do that, it is a good idea to do that, in fact.
But I’d hate to think that is ALL you come to my blog for. If you know what I mean.
Now we got that out of the way…
How are you? How’s life? How has the world been treating you? Tell Aunt Catrina.
I am probably older than your real Aunt,I bet. How old am I, you ask?
You do not want to know. Maybe one day I will tell you. IF
IF you comment and keep commenting on my blog.
IF you had hit the ‘like’ button on the blog posts I write that are LINKS to videos, music, or articles outside WordPress, and you actually went to view, listen, or read and enjoyed it. I notice I get likes on those posts, but nobody actually went to the linked site. I mean, like WHY?
Big head scratcher there, dear reader. Big head scratcher.
So, I invite you to engage with me. Engage already! *throttling you* Engage, dammit!
I exist in Singapore. I have little to no choice in the matter. Having no means to successfully leave, but in 2008 out of sheer despair, I have tried to leave and start a life anew as I was invited over by someone on the Internet who lived in Europe. I sold off everything I had, became technically homeless, was not welcomed by the people who invited me over to their country, was rejected and forced to return, I do not participate in the culture of Singapore.
The culture of Singapore is wholly hinged on the concept of totemic social darwinism, placing status and conspicuous consumption above all other values, property held in common e.g. library books, parks, etc are viewed as not owned personally and open to endless abuse. The poor are pitied but not helped, charities organised by the wealthy and the predatory successfully obtains public donations as long as the public desire to worship celebrity is appeased when they use celebrities to obtain these contributions, which are then more often than not, used to line their own coffers rather than actually help anyone.
Blaming the State while secretly supporting it seems to be widespread here, as is structural bullying. Accused of having a ‘third world mentality’ by the elite in power, Singaporeans are likened to welcoming, sharing, non-totemic, non-consumeristic peasant villagers who are far happier than your average Singaporean will ever be, strangely enough. No, Singapore mind is not third world, it is very First World, with its capitalist winner take all kill the weak this is Sparta! social darwinism.
You stand outside this, you rage, but alone there is nothing to keep you going, with no means of financial support, life is endless grind. Who cares? Only your one friend and life partner, who alone cannot do anything too.
Life goes on. Why does it? I create art music. I create. Who cares?
When it comes to despair, the whole of it, the deep pain of it, I know of that all too well, all my life.
I remember waking up in the hospital bed my body a cry of pain the searing pain total pain dull pain sharp.
I had been in a coma for two weeks they told me
There were bruises all over my body
That were not caused by my overdose
They were from the callous uncaring hospital staff and nurses who banged and dropped me whenever they moved me
I had tried to kill myself 14 days ago
My life was as meaningless as a Jordan Peterson lecture, and as painful to attend to.
And unlike Ben Shapiro’s latent homosexual and crossdressing desires, I could not deny the cosmos size vacuum in my heart. I was as lonely as I was rejected.
I was 21 years old that January.
Had A breakdown at age 13 made me not able to continue with school and all its social cruelties.
My parents were not concerned when I told them I was going to kill myself. Suppose if somebody was going to die, people might be concerned somewhat, but I was not a somebody I was myself, and people were not people they were those who neither cared nor wanted to know me.
I have been missing someone missing with a fierceness and a desperation. Except I didn’t know who that was. My childhood was a poem of despair, my adolescence a Shakespearian tragedy.
Appearing to others like a Charlie Brown struggling to obtain the love and approval and respect of his classmates, my childhood life was more like Stephen King’s ‘Carrie’ from the inside.
[Carrie White | Stephen King Wiki | FANDOM powered by Wikia](http://stephenking.wikia.com/wiki/Carrie_White)
From the very first time I saw the movie ‘Carrie’ at 13 I identified with her. Abused in a terrible secret silence, sequestered from a normative childhood social life, misinformed about human life, alone and angry and afraid all the time.
Things are going to slide in all directions
Won’t be nothing
Nothing you can measure any more
The blizzard of the world
has crossed the threshold
and it has overturned
the order of the soul… Leonard Cohen, “The Future”
Not to cast myself into the role of victim, and admitting an insight that often bullies were abused as children, oppressors often were the oppressed at one time or another, and the brutal fact that I was not the probable absolute in terms of most downtrodden circumstance, it was still no less than a very troubled childhood and adolescence.
The so-called doctors called my condition ‘depression’. They gave me rather toxic pills to take to overcome it. It did not work. I took their pills for nearly 20 years, and that made things worse for me.
I got addicted to them for one thing. Both my body and my psychology grew dependent on these pills that doctors still do not know how or what they did to a person.
The pills – not for a minute, not for a day – alleviated my real despair.
And it would take me a very long, and a very painful 35 years traversing alienation, poverty, and betrayal to start to realise the truth.
That this so-called depression was not some kind of anomaly, some kind of mental illness.
It was in fact, a very common and reasonable response to a world not ok.
My illness was really, simply, my system’s way of coping with the larger system of persons that was dysfunctional.
The internal coping mechanism was not the dysfunction.
The world was.
One year into music is nothing. You love music, you will keep on loving music. Some of us been at it for decades and decades, and faced many disappointments in many areas related to music. But if you truly love music, nothing will keep you from developing. This era, unlike when the first 30 years of my own development is rich with information, viz the Internet, for free. Don’t take this for granted. If it ever got taken away, you will know how good you got it, but too late. Google and Yahoo and Bing are your pals here. Go, make music.
Food is not food, if you insist on turning a blind eye to the murder you demand be done for your tastebuds. Life is precious. Stop being the essential link in the chain of mass scale murder and torture.
To copy and paste the initial response I left at his article:
What positive thinking will do for you though is give you an aura of confidence that is hard to fake. (original article quote)
“Positive thinking as people understand it, is putting the cart before the horse. Competence trumps confidence every time. Forget confidence and positive thinking, trying to make yourself ‘positive’ makes you anxious. Work on competency, and the rest must follow.
Neville Goddard: Neville lost a substantial portion of his audience, and resultant earnings, later on in his career. He stopped telling people what they wanted to hear: That they could obtain anything they desired by assuming the emotional state of having obtained it.
Firstly, it is almost impossible to do so, unless you can create a very real state of denial relative to reality. This endangers your mental health. Also, let’s say you just had your house burned down, your spouse is being convicted of murder, you got fired, your bank seized all your remaining assets, and all your friends and family has turned their backs on you.
Assume the state of the complete opposite of all that, without the use of drugs or alcohol, nor courting delusional mental states. Try it. Hard, right? Impossible, maybe not. Dangerous? Absolutely.”
Now, I did not write this to humiliate Ben Hertzel. Ben Hertzel just wants to help.
You see, I too, was taken in by the ‘New Thought’ movement, as exemplified by ‘The Secret’, Neville Goddard, Ernest Holmes, Napoleon Hill, et al.
I also did Wiccan spells, created magical sigils, and became a competent Tarot reader.
I, too, once concluded that there must be something lacking in how I used these methods that did not make them work in my case. I tried them all for decades. Not years, decades.
So the sad conclusion I reached was arrived at exhausting all possible ways to make my life go right using these ‘secret’ principles.
They simply do not work.
Your confirmation bias may tell you otherwise. Your magical thinking selects the times you imagine your spells and your visualisations appear to have ‘manifested’ some thing into your life. Most of them would be small, would be about finding parking spaces in a crowded street, for instance.
Or receiving a cheque out of the blue from a company that owed you money. Yes, magic also works retroactively and made a company give you money that otherwise they wouldn’t. Sure it did.
Those up in arms and ready to retaliate my ‘negativity’ need to keep in mind that religious adherents of every creed also claim to the exact same thing; my Allah did this, my Jesus did that.
I prayed for my team to win the Super Bowl, and they did.
The first problem with ‘manifesting desires’ in a capitalist world, is that every desire is in competition with everyone else’s. Your team won because you prayed, you think the other team’s fans didn’t pray? Or did you just pray better, harder, faster? Is your magic (or your god) simply better, or just the only one true right one, and the others are, like you know, bogus?
Is life a constant (magical) battle then? Is Harry Potter going to defeat Voldemort? Can’t we just manifest abundance and end world hunger, once and for all, and make the bloody Third World competitive in the market place, for cryin’ out loud?
And levitation? Piece of cake. Just assume the powers of personal flight, and feel the sensation of being lifted off the ground. A hefty dose of PCP will aid ya.
The fictions of all this magic is far more dangerous in the long run than you can assume initially. Most people just drop believing in any of this after the first 30 times they can’t make it work. Others, desperate for a real change in their lives, would beat their heads against the New Age Wall, forking out the little money they have to charismatic people decked out in $4,000 suits and haute couture dress wear, forever.
However, the actual way forward, to my way of thinking now, is step by step, little by little, effort that you can realistically make given your current life situation.
There are avenues closed off to most people in this dark and terrible world. But there are little corners within your own psyche you can cultivate and protect against the brutalities of society, family, and State, of both capitalists and the crazies spouting communism (and acting like total pricks while doing so).
Little corners of your self where nothing outside matters. You plant the seeds of happiness there. Nowhere else do they grow, no matter how much success or failure as measured by the world you have can touch this. Nothing in the world can make you happy, even if you could magically manifest every single one of your contradictory desires. (“I want everyone to win, but I want to be the only one with the gold medal.”)
And even when nothing appears to be going your way in life, the joy of discovering the little flower growing among the weeds in the dump behind your house becomes all it takes.
Because that joy was cultivated in you, not in wanting myriad things. That joy is yours.
First, the Liar’s paradox, which is a sentence that says:
This sentence is a lie.
We see the problem right there. If the sentence is true, then it says it is a lie, then it cannot be true, which makes it true. If the sentence is false, then it must be true, which then makes it untrue. And so on, endlessly, in a mind farting Mobius strip of never-ending paradox.
It cannot be both true and untrue, and neither true nor untrue, at the same time. Right?
And like I said, the many attempts at solving (or at least resolving) this headache of a philosophical brain tease are too sophisticated, and still, unsatisfactory. (See the Wiki entry, link posted above).
Eric Kaplan makes this paradox a linchpin for his argument that logic has severe limits, in his book “Does Santa Exist?”, a philosophy text for beginners.
Apparently, according to Kaplan, it cannot be solved.
But I solved it on my own. On my own.
It is very simple.
First of all, realise that the function of any sentence in any language is to signify or point to something outside itself.
There are no functioning self-referring sentences. This is not how language works.
If the statement,
‘This sentence is a lie” points to — >
All men are dolphins,
then it is obviously untrue.
If it points to — >All men are not canine, then it is likely to be true. Maybe. Who knows that one, right?
Language performs the function that maps and signs do. You ever hear of a map of itself? Neither did I.
Thousands of years, I hear, they could not solve this Liar Paradox thing. Some people use it to prove that Logic itself has its limits, and cannot fathom Reality, yes that’s reality with a capital ‘R’, the Big One.
All because they could not understand that the sentence itself was bogus, a fraud, a trick.
Similar to this is the paradox that shows a sentence in a box that states:
Everything in this box is untrue.
And everyone assumes the statement means it itself is untrue, since nothing else appears to be inside the box. But it merely means that, if there were any other statements or objects in the box, beside itself, that thing is untrue.
These kinds of paradoxes are not that hard to solve, if one can think simply enough.
Sometimes, not getting a college education sometimes has its advantages. Sometimes.
The top writers are pretty much the ones you expect. BA(Hons) in English, PhD motherfuckers, CEOs of multinationals, published authors with best sellers. The rich get richer.
These inbreds write about writing. They write how to succeed manuals that do not work. They are the ones who get enough claps (10k and up, I have even seen 100K claps) to sustain a living writing.
Lower down the pyramid scheme, we get the wanna-preneurs, the digital nomads living off money they claimed to have made via bitcoin trading, or some such, or selling their ‘beats’ online, travelling round the world, one packet of condoms at a time.
These, too, make decent money. Medium level money. Ahem.
Can you picture me rolling my eyes now?
The rest of us are scraping off the bottom, clapping for one another, supporting one another, making sure our names stay in the highlights of other people’s articles, in hope of drawing eyes to our own outpourings. Adding the followers of anyone we can find. That works, right?
If you write moderately well, maybe a little pocket money can be made?
Don’t make me laugh.
The first month I wrote here at Medium, I wrote over a dozen articles. Maybe more. Most good. A few, great. How much did that get me?
20 US cents.
I paid my monthly five dollars, I want my money back.
Now, the second month, I see I am making nearly $2.
$1.94 to be exact. Oh, boy, if I write fifty or sixty more 1,000 word essays I may be able to break even, and break that $5 ceiling. Pray for me.
What a fucking scam.
But wait, there is flash fiction. There is short poetry. I can write like a dozen a day or more. If I really hustle, I can churn em out like little hamster poop pellets. Those get claps.
So I do not get to write more of what matters, and just end up hustling, and hustling? Sounds good to me.
I already terminated my monthly subscription, so come March I can no longer drop my name on everyone’s page, as we all need to do, in order to survive at this Medium of mediocrity. I already lost my $5. I ain’t about to lose even more, chasing my own tail, betraying my worth, to do this humiliating dance.
I am one of the truly gifted music composers and musicians of this era. No one is ever going to know this but me. No one supports my music and it is stillborn. So I try other things, I m not good at non-creative things, and writing it seems, is not creative, it is a hustle. Not much else. Pandering, and hustling.
I know others fare better here than I do. It is not reflection on my abilities, nor on my work ethic. I write. A lot. But it is not at all ‘paying off’.
I am so tired of this. So damned tired. Shoot me already. Immortalise me as the world has done to Van Gogh and Vivaldi. I think heaven now has paypal or venmo, right? Death always makes an artist’s work appear more worthy. Market me post-humously, I dare ya.
Oh, yeah. I was supposed to teach you how to make 20 cents here. First, you know, write something. Maybe even gibberish. Someone is bound to clap. Try lines like, ‘she plunged her hand deep into my anal crevice as I let out a moan of delight’, that oughta be worth 20 cents. I mean, compared to injustice, speciesism, capitalist toxicity, mental illness, poverty, and all the other topics I cover, a hand fucking an ass is worth more, am I right?
Go ahead. Pump away. Fist fuck that mother for all the money she can make ya. Maybe even make all the way up to $10 a month. Wow. Fucking heaven, I tell you.
Just don’t go spending it all in one place.
Edit: It turns out Medium clocks me at already churning out 101, that’s one hundred and one pieces, but they include comments I left. The pay is upped to $2.69 minus tax. Wow, am I right? Fucking scam.