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Welcome Back To Here

I think I've finally outgrown my adolescent Live Journal, so I'm transferring everything over to my shiny old Blogspot blog. Just realizing i've had my LJ since 2004 is a bit disheartening; I've gone through two schools, two 'proper' girlfriends, even more flings and hook-ups, countless friends and acquaintances, two pairs of great headphones (alas), three or four jobs, read thousands of pointless words, and thankfully, two regime changes - one more dubious than the other. Hopefully by the end of this year it'll be a different mode of transport, a different place and a career. I want to go to the United States by the end of this year. I will be there. I will be in Washington, D.C. when they tally the votes as they are handed in. I've said all these things a million times before, my own drive to shift inside is giving me the impetus to change. I have changed, in some small ways. I will make this happen. My beliefs tell me so. I don't have to sit back and wait any more - Now my questions regarding life will be more "What are you doing for me?" instead of "What have you done to me?" Sounds empowering. And just a little arrogant. Just a little.


This Society of Mine

I'm impotently enraged. There's a poison well of apathy running through Australian society; the spectre of conservatism. We've had 9 years of conservative Coalition government in this country, and it seems like the defenders of the status quo has prevailed all too easily. Conservatism is rife throughout every major fundamental institution - education discourages different streams of ideas by insisting upon arguments be positioned within already established norms. They may as well be reaching for an independent thought supressant any time someone has a new idea. And no one does - the right has condemned the left to take up a contrary position till the end of time. So much for the end of ideology. Even art has conceded that originality is dead, the advocates of postmodernism believing simulation is better than reality. Politics is irrevocably backward, art, music, fashion, major services and the media. What's happened to this society of mine? What happened to the age of enlightenment? What can I do about it, apart from sit on my arse and stagnate in my own stew of simmering hatred and contempt? It doesn't look like much from out here...


Wired Artillery

Blogging it seems is like starting something you can never end. You are compelled to write in it when you haven't anything in the slightest to say and continue to do so for no discernible reason. But another startling revelation i've had is the fact that blogging seems to prevent such occurances from happening; it creates a culture of groupthink that people cling on to, to their detriment. Since some forms of communication can be replacements for face-to-face contact, and assuming that my beliefs on extreme mis/interpretations over the internet are justified and correct, many "friends" on my friends list are not even acquaintances (or they have set a precendent of "friendship" in the past); they are merely political tools to curry favor or to placate others within a social heirarchy. With that fact being valid, they fall into cycles of self-inflicted recycling of ideas, themes or stories. For example, many people have highlighted the importance of being able to become comfortable with oneself instead of filling a void with an ultimately neurotic relationship. These premises are the foundations of Rational-Emotive Behavior Therapy, a branch of therapeutic psychology that I have studied to further my own insights into the human mind, and to keep myself in optimal mental health. This theme has permeated many a post, and will continue to into the future. The question remains if these people have all partaken in a group realization without actually having experienced this fact for themselves? Does the feeling stick, or is it forgotten with the remnants of the day? It's an interesting fact to consider, nevertheless.

I pray for employment or fruitful occupation. Unfortunately, Santa couldn't even promise it for me. He was the Myer department store Santa, after all...he knows his stuff.


They Are My Lethe

I've been having random visions, strange dreams. They continue unabated...but what do they mean? I endeavor to find out.

Society shits me. The norms and conventions that we have created just imbue more disorder into a soup of untraverseable turbulence. I cannot talk about certain subjects to many people, due to what I have done, what I have not done, and what I wish I never did. The awkwardness permeates every droll note that we exchange, both regretting our chance encounter until the conversation abruptly ends. They ponder about the sentences given, if they revealed too much of their psyche than they would likely admit. Their curiosity gives way to their ambivalence and the matter is repressed into the nether reaches of their minds. If only it were that simple. Despite our best wishes, we cannot turn back the clock - the memories of these people still exist - and so do they. Do we want to converse as we once did, like old times? That is a question I can never answer.


Of Reasons and Inquiries

It's rather uncanny. Of all the grand literary exploits that man has embarked upon, the results of which stretch the frontier of imagination to unfathomable bounds, most fringe dwelling netizens are perpetually drawn to the mundane prattlings of the every man in their blogs. Day in, day out, they sit and cathartically express their innermost feelings and heartfelt events to a culture with an excess of downtime. Digital lives projected onto a cold screen, ready for mass consumption by anyone who cares to read it. But the question remains: does anyone actually care whether one's cat has given birth to kittens? Why bother with the vagrancies of trivial, insignificant information of people we barely know - what's the point? Do we gain insight into these lives at all?

Across my various online diaries, I have ceased reporting the happenings of my life - an act of self-imposed censorship due to an overly-sensitive culture of hostile bloggers that demand their own opinions be heard, respected and never challenged. I cannot make a statement that is controversial or easily misinterpretable, negative reprocussions are an inevitable concequence.

Then what is the reason for maintaining this ongoing charade? This identity I allude to in my blogs is not me, yet it is representative of a personality that others have constructed time and again. I am not Crushtor the Robot. I am someone else. Even so, if my ancillary is not me in a literal sense, and other's online consciousness' are not theirs, who is anyone in cyberspace? Who is any one in reality, for that matter? This implicit projective and inferred identification by all has given rise to perceptions that are false and in constant error.

Blogs, then, are not used for recording one's experiences, cultural expression/critique or to construct one's identity (through their own creation or definition or through a mutually renewable opposition), they are merely validators for one's own existence; a reaffirmation that one's own consciousness exists eternally in a narcissistic broadcast to the entire world. Readings into the subtexts of blogs reveal certain images, omissions or connotations are the only true indicator of one's introspective desire; the unconscious reveals itself unwittingly time and again, exposing one's persona stemming from one's own, and one's percieved identity. Despite the restrictions and ridicule, we blog on, recieving strokes from others as if we were dogs begging for scraps underneath a table. And of the myriad subjects within the host of oceanic ideas, we always pick the same one to write about: "Look at me, I exist."