Monday, December 15, 2008

Monday Night Confessions

Today, I feel extremely lethargic. I slept in because I felt a bit sick. But I got out of bed around 10 and didn't feel ill, so much as I felt lethargic, much like I do right now. Like, it would feel really good to cry - to just break out in a fit of heaving sobs. I feel the temptation to do so, but can't justify the action to my intellect and so I fight the man. I would like to have the comfort of curling up in bed, but I am not tired. I search my mind looking for something to regret and nothing comes to mind. It would feel good right now to feel remorse for something - some secret, unconfessed sin. It sort of feels like I do in fact rue - but there is no object to my colorful verb. Maybe it's just sorrow. I feel sorrow mingled with apathy. And I don't know why - I have no idea why. But descending and then ascending the stairs to the basement is enough to make me feel bodily weary too. I don't want to call clients, I don't want to be confronted about not calling clients. I don't want to suck it up or grow up. I want to be a genius so my immaturity can be excused with comments like "well he is really good at X", or maybe I wouldn't mind dying early so that people can be like "he would have amounted to so much", and then I can get out of actually working hard to try and amount to something, or out of the disappointment of failing to amount to much. I am too emotionally exhausted to read. I feel guilty and like I am wasting my life because I don't read very much. I pretend to be a philosopher or a student of the Bible or a theologian or a reader or a thinker. I pretend to be a grown up. I am 24 blasted years old - I should at the very least have a Bachelor's degree by now. Anything but this - anything but an abjectly impoverished Curriculum Vitae that only adds insult to lethargy and wannabe, aspirant, depression. It's pathetic in the deepest, purest, and ugliest way possible. I need a good slap in the face. Winter 08/09, here I come.


  1. i'm giving you jon for christmas.

    according to some 15 year study, with bazillion participants, according to jeremy mann, the number 1 indicator of happiness is having a close friend living within a mile of you.

  2. My good friend. Your woe brings me to sadness. Your downward ramblings make me think you are with pressure, under its most burdensome of attributes. I empathize with your groaning(s), Louis.
    And perhaps the escape of a life cut short is appealing, but, as you have logically portrayed for us readers, it is in itself empty; shortcoming. Like Jeff Buckley.
    No, not at all like Jeff Buckley...but his life was cut short before he had a chance to display the best of his gifts. We all got a glimpse of the man who made a record. And he will always be remembered for that one record. He will be judged for that one record. He will remain in every one's minds, something of a genius. He will remain a moment in music, spoken only of by his one record. No chance for shortcoming, no opportunity for redemption, and no shitty album.
    But when you press yourself to it, you know that this is not him.

    Louis, you are something special. You have been a friend to me ever since I met you. You came to my bands' first (and only) show in Coeur d'Alene, only days after meeting me. And even though you didn't get to see most of the performance (because you came on time, and as any musician knows, we NEVER start on time) you being there, showing up to the show, as one of the first spectators meant alot to me. It was fucking great to have that.

    This is where I quote some scripture. Nay, this is where I WOULD quote some scripture. But I have the mind to tell you that I do not know them well enough...yet.

    Louis, you have inspired another. Rejoice in this success. I love you brother.

  3. It was a lovely night, one of those nights, dear reader, which can only happen when you are young. The sky was so bright and starry that when you looked up at it the first question that came into your mind was whether it was really possible that all sorts of bad tempered and unstable people could live under such a glorious sky. It is a question, dear reader, that would occur only to a young man, but may the good Lord put it into your head as often as possible!.. The mention of bad-tempered and unstable people reminds me that during the whole of this day my behavior has been above reproach. When I woke up in the morning I felt strangely depressed, a feeling I could not shake off for the better part of the day. All of the sudden it seemed to me as though I, the solitary one, had been forsaken by the whole world, and that the whole world would have nothing to do with me.

    Dostoevsky, White Nights

  4. ...or perhaps more apropos, per the name of your blog:

    'To pleasant songs my work was erstwhile given, and bright were all my labours then; but now in tears to sad refrains am I compelled to turn. Thus my maimed Muses guide my pen, and gloomy songs make no feigned tears bedew my face...

    While I was pondering thus in silence, and using my pen to set down so tearful a complaint, there appeared standing over my head a woman's form, whose countenance was full of majesty, whose eyes shone as with fire and in power of insight surpassed the eyes of men, whose colour was full of life, whose strength was yet intact though she was so full of years that none would ever think that she was subject to such age as ours. One could but doubt her varying stature, for at one moment she repressed it to the common measure of a man, at another she seemed to touch with her crown the very heavens: and when she had raised higher her head, it pierced even the sky and baffled the sight of those who would look upon it. Her clothing was wrought of the finest thread by subtle workmanship brought to an indivisible piece. This had she woven with her own hands, as I afterwards did learn by her own shewing. Their beauty was somewhat dimmed by the dulness of long neglect, as is seen in the smoke-grimed masks of our ancestors. On the border below was inwoven the symbol (Pi), on
    that above was to be read a (Theta). And between the two letters there could be marked degrees, by which, as by the rungs of a ladder, ascent might be made from the lower principle to the higher. Yet the hands of rough men had torn this garment and snatched such morsels as they could therefrom. In her right hand she carried books, in her left was a sceptre brandished.

    When she saw that the Muses of poetry were present by my couch giving words to my lamenting, she was stirred a while; her eyes flashed fiercely, and said she, 'Who has suffered these seducing mummers to approach this sick man? Never do they support those in sorrow by any healing remedies, but rather do ever foster the sorrow by poisonous sweets. These are they who stifle the fruit-bearing harvest of reason with the barren briars of the passions: they free not the minds of men from disease, but accustom them thereto. I would think it less grievous if your allurements drew away from me some uninitiated man, as happens in the vulgar herd. In such an one my labours would be naught harmed, but this man has been nourished in the lore of Eleatics and Academics; and to him have ye reached? Away with you, Sirens, seductive unto destruction! leave him to my Muses to be cared for and to be healed.'

    Their band thus rated cast a saddened glance upon the ground, confessing their shame in blushes, and passed forth dismally over the threshold. For my part, my eyes were dimmed with tears, and I could not discern who was this woman of such commanding power. I was amazed, and turning my eyes to the ground I began in silence to await what she should do. Then she approached nearer and sat down upon the end of my couch: she looked into my face heavy with grief and cast down by sorrow to the ground, and then she raised her complaint over the trouble of my mind in these words.

    'Ah me! how blunted grows the mind when sunk below the o'erwhelming flood! Its own true light no longer burns within, and it would break forth to outer darknesses. How often care, when fanned by earthly winds, grows to a larger and unmeasured bane. This man has been free to the open heaven: his habit has it been to wander into the paths of the sky: his to watch the light of the bright sun, his to inquire into the brightness of the chilly moon; he, like a conqueror, held fast bound in its order every star that makes its wandering circle, turning its peculiar course. Nay, more, deeply has he searched into the springs of nature, whence came the roaring blasts that ruffle the ocean's bosom calm: what is the spirit that makes the firmament revolve; wherefore does the evening star sink into the western wave but to rise from the radiant East; what is the cause which so tempers the season of Spring that it decks the earth with rose-blossoms; whence comes it to pass that Autumn is prolific in the years of plenty and overflows with teeming vines: deeply to search these causes was his wont, and to bring forth secrets deep in Nature hid.

    'Now he lies there; extinct his reason's light, his neck in heavy chains thrust down, his countenance with grievous weight downcast; ah! the brute earth is all he can behold.

    'But now,' said she, 'is the time for the physician's art, rather than for complaining.' Then fixing her eyes wholly on me, she said, 'Are you the man who was nourished upon the milk of my learning, brought up with my food until you had won your way to the power of a manly soul? Surely I had given you such weapons as would keep you safe, and your strength unconquered; if you had not thrown them away. Do you know me? Why do you keep silence? Are you dumb from shame or from dull amazement? I would it were from shame, but I see that amazement has overwhelmed you.'

    When she saw that I was not only silent, but utter]y tongue-tied and dumb, she put her hand gently upon my breast, and said, 'There is no danger: he is suffering from drowsiness, that disease which attacks so many minds which have been deceived. He has forgotten himself for a moment and will quickly remember, as soon as he recognises me. That he may do so, let me brush away from his eyes the darkening cloud of thoughts of matters perishable.' So saying, she gathered her robe into a fold and dried my swimming eyes.

  5. yowza. how do i follow comments like those? only to say, be where you are.

    when i feel like that, i like to get caught up in watching 24. i've learned to not feel guilty about this, but to pretend that my life is as cool as Jack Bauer's life. it works wonders.

  6. I like you guys a lot. I appreciate your comments. Thank you. Its funny; I almost didn't post this because I thought it might be too vulnerable, and people might be annoyed (like when you first meet someone and say "how are you?" and they unload all their innermost secrets and struggles and you feel awkward). It feels good to have a little bit of vulnerability validated. It is humanizing.


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