Godammit, I’m Mad!

I always enjoy the discovery of a scholarly approach to a silly or lowbrow subject. Remember when Camille Paglia used to write about Madonna?

I had no idea that Black Metal Theory is now a philosophy and field of study complete with international symposia and experts  who say things like this:

We have been told by the living that the idea of a vital world is that of comfort and warmth. [Writer] Dominic Fox assures us that this is not the case. With an unparalleled militant efficiency, Cold World [a book about Black Metal] blackens the lines between poetics and politics, music and negative resistance. It is a haunting sermon from the world of the dead exhorting the living to revolt in the name of a life whose vitality has been disenchanted by coldness and whose sacredness has been profaned by nigredo. Reza Negarestan - Author of Nihil Unbound: Enlightenment and Extinction

God. What the hell is “nigredo,” right? I looked it up and you can, too. But there’s no way that Black Metal Theory can be taken seriously, especially when it’s discussed in dense academic mumbo jumbo of the first oder.  Here is Scott Wilson, a professor of Media and Cultural Studies at Kingston University in London:

Black Metal is clearly a form of environmental writing, but one that could not easily be accommodated into current ecological discourse. Participants seriously considered the idea of melancology both as black ecology, exploring black metal as a geophilosophy of real and psychic spaces (the frozen desert is not so much ‘out there’ but inside you), and as an ethos, looking at black metal as the re-occultation of black blood and bile in rituals of mourning and celebration for the death of God and the extinction of his creation, particularly humanity, under the black sun of melancholy. As such, the symposium connected with a new strain in contemporary philosophy that regards extinction as a speculative opportunity for thought. Black metal resounds from the abyss and it is precisely only in relation to its sonic forces that the question of intervention in the environment arises in the articulation of melancology with ethics. That is, in deciding ‘which way out’ we should take, in deciding with what surpluses to dwell, with what waste, what detritus or decay in a process of unbinding with sonic forces that traverse an earth choking in wealth and death.

Ha! Blah blah blah. What a bunch of fucking wankers. All I know is that Varg Vikernes,  leader of the band Burzum, was released from jail after serving 16 years for killing a guy from Mayhem, a rival band, and burning down some churches.

Now he has a website, http://www.burzum.org, and two new albums. For some reason he hates Black people,  despite all the dark black negredo of his chosen musical genre. He probably needs to study the Theory.

Reading the New York Times online, I just got sidetracked by a link that said: “Worried about your memory? 5 Signs  it’s Serious.”

As it happens, I have no short-term memory and little of the other kind either. People are constantly mad at me for forgetting things I’m supposed to remember.  They point out that I’ve told the same story twice, and that I’ve already seen a movie I have no recollection of. The signs are all there.

But memory problems are also common in people with PTSD, fibromyalgia, and a couple of other conditions that apply to me but I forgot what they are. I’m not joking here, either.

So, I’m reading this list of warning signs and going Yep, yep, I have Alzheimer’s, I’m screwed, when I get to number 5, Having Trouble With Choices, and I come upon this quote:

“If you used to be a definitive person and now you can’t work your way through choices, that’s a red flag,” psychiatrist Ken Robbins says. “Choosing involves enough cognitive powers — remembering what you like, thinking about how the options differ, and thinking about what you want now — that it’s a problem that shows up early on.”

DEFINITIVE?!?!? What the fuck?! That bastard means “decisive” and he used the wrong word! They’re not interchangeable, Dr. Ken Robbins, Moron Esq.! English, motherfucker! Do you speak it? Where is the fucking editor??

I’m trying to calm down. But it’s hard. And now I can see my future: I will be hopelessly bereft of all memory, including my own name, rank and serial number, but I’ll be flipping out about word usage with my last dying breath.

First of all, that Hermes lady is fucking nuts about her photos. She doesn’t want her photos used to mock her. They are there for praise only! They are there for gloating, not for you internet people to copy and ridicule. I found this picture on flickr, Hermes Lady, so relax.

I wasn’t able to force myself to go through 30something pages of her boasting about her Hermes purchases and the attendant ass-kissing. But I think I got the gist of it.

Here is the situation. Hermes is a symbol of wealth and success. Nothing more or less. A woman who spends a fortune at Hermes and then documents it online is a person desperately in need of love and self-esteem. There isn’t enough Hermes in the whole world to assure her of her intrinsic worth.  It’s a mug’s game.

Consumption at this level is very sad. All shopping is a defense against the knowledge of our mortality. It’s a stupid distraction that exists to enrich corporations and to numb the appetites of the soul.

Look in your closet and think about which outfits would make you happy if a family member died in a car crash. Look at your shoes and then look at this picture.

The Hermes Lady is a picture of insecurity, distorted by money and self-delusion. She is a waste of our time. Turn your eyes away from that lady and her ridiculous merchandise.

You already have everything you need to be happy.

Don’t worry about shoes or handbags. Listen to music, look at some art or have sex instead. You’ll thank me later.

My friend R took me to Sephora today, to replace the NARS lipstick that her dog chewed up.

And what did I see at the check-out counter but a big frightening man-woman! If only my crappy cellphone picture could do her/him justice.

My first view was from behind, as I noticed the fake black hair with the texture of a cheap Halloween wig. There was a slight Angelina Jolie aspect in the profile, due to inflated lips and a hacked-off nose.  Gigantic implants contrasted nicely with the massive, muscular arms. I should have tried to see what she or he was buying, the better to figure out what gender (if any) was being represented.

In any case, I think this is a good lesson in the perils of plastic surgery AND body building. Back in the dark ages when I lifted weights, many of the female pros had managed to turn themselves into sad parodies of men, via steroids and dieting.  It isn’t a pretty picture but clearly one’s aesthetic ideal is badly distorted by this point.

It’s much better to let nature take its course; there is a limit to how much it can mess you up.

Here is Rihanna at the Met Costume Gala.  Forget about her dress and look instead at the stray feathers shed all over the red- carpeted stairs by artist/socialite/muse/adultress Daphne Guinness.

Here’s the Daphster:

Earlier, she got dressed in the window of Barneys New York, in a dramatic performance one can only describe as Nuts.

And here is one of my favorite Daphne moments:

Can anyone explain the subtext of this photo?

I was so touched and delighted when “Sam” suggested that my readers could take over some of my worries for me while I tend to my PTSD. The three big-ticket worries I mentioned were Libya, Mrs. Palin, and fashion.

So I’d like to hand over these worries on a volunteer basis. Just pick the one you feel most suited or inclined to worry about!  Here they are, in no order:

Libya

Mrs. Palin

The Tea Party

Obama’s ineptitude

Fashion trends

Nuclear catastrophe

Celebrity break-ups

Blogger business deals

Tavi developments

Afghanistan

Corporate crime

The economy

Sea of Shoes

Healthcare

I plan to continue worrying about hair and hair products, cosmetic surgery, language issues, cunts and COTW, and minor pop culture irritants. That’s all I can handle until further notice.

Okay, Thank you in advance for your kindness and generosity. Once you have chosen a Worry to be responsible for, just do your best. If you can’t fulfill your obligation and have to step down, it will go to the Alternate Candidate for that category.

xoxoxo

Understanding the symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder doesn’t help to alleviate them, but it’s good to know that others have felt as angry, numb, desperate and insane as oneself.

I wish I’d learned about this earlier, thereby to have avoided lashing out at everyone in my path, but oh well, what’s done is done.

I’m reading a book that explains about triggers – things that reignite the original trauma, making you relive it, over and over again. But I can’t avoid the triggers and I don’t even know which traumatic event to begin with.

Meanwhile, I went to my first meeting of a Bereaved Parents group. Cancer, suicide, it’s all the same agony. We are each clinging to our dead child’s mattress. We are all members of an elite group: the walking wounded pariahs whose stories are too awful for civilians.

A nice lady held my hand and gave me her phone number. There are no steps and no Higher power, just the bond of shared grief. I wish the group met more often.  I have problems up ahead, like ordering a gravestone and Mother’s Day. Lucky for me, I have a supportive husband who never says to hurry up and Get Over It.

Today I stared at tumblr images for five hours. I’ve stopped caring about Libya, fashion, and Mrs. Palin. Sometimes I sleep in my clothes so I don’t have to get dressed the next day. I even forgot to blog about how I smashed my finger with the trash can and had to have the ENTIRE NAIL REMOVED.

I am still sort of me, though. We watched a new episode of New York Housewives and I cursed at them aloud with the same happy contempt. Is there a German word for that?

*photograph via here.

“Today marks the official launch of TheFix.com, a new content site aimed at recovering drug and alcohol users.”

I read that and imagined a nice scholarly-looking website filled with information and resources, like the sites about autism or migraines. Instead, it’s a garish tabloid-like bonanza of stupid features like “Worst Celebrity Meltdown” and “Hollywood’s Best Addict Performances.”

Courtney Love is one of the experts on hand to give advice, and there are articles on finding the perfect AA meeting and dating a crackhead.  There is even a BIG photo of a syringe in an arm, to illustrate a story about vaccines. Are they insane? The whole thing looks like a great parody except for its breathtaking witlessness.

Please have a look and get back to me. Tell me your theory on how they got the seed money for this venture and what kind of advertisers will want to get in on this.

Meanwhile, they invite submissions and story ideas! I could never be part of such a shabby enterprise, especially knowing what I do about the horrors of drug addiction. But wouldn’t it be fun to propose some idiotic stories just to see if they bite? How about “Funniest excuse for for a relapse” or “How to flirt with an ER doctor?”

Fuckers.

Because it is my avocation to get mad and start arguments, when I came upon a photo of a woman sticking a needle in her arm, on tumblr, I wrote to the blogger and politely complained. I said the picture could be a trigger for recovering addicts, and that addiction should not be romanticized. She replied politely that she was against censorhip and couldn’t be responsible for triggers. I wrote to the blogger from whom she’d reblogged the photo. She replied politely too,  but maintained that the photo was “social commentary.”

Both bloggers pointed out that heroin addiction is a part of life and that you can’t just show nice things. Both denied that the artful picture of an attractive woman shooting dope was in any way romanticizing addiction.

But wait! The “part of life” argument is kind of fatuous. Vomit, amputation,  and car accidents are part of life. All kinds of distressing things are part of life but you don’t see many arty picture of them. The image of an addict shooting up is a powerful one that has been around for a long time, and it doesn’t show the Part of Life that comes after it: The abscesses, the arrests, the death, the funeral, the sobbing friends.

I resent these images, because they don’t tell the truth.  They are a siren song to young people, just as cigarette ads once were.

I know it’s too much to ask that everyone stop admiring nice black and white photos of addicts shooting dope. But I’d at least like everyone to admit that these images are romantic.  They depict a “transgressive” act, nicely lit and composed, that represents mavericky behavior…even rock and roll behavior, one might say.  OF COURSE it is romanticizing an illness that in real life is tragic, sordid, cruel and lamentable on every level!

It’s not art, any more than the images of bottled fetuses used by anti-choice groups is art. It’s the perpetuation of a stupid and dangerous myth.  Or maybe it is art, but it’s political, even if one insists otherwise.

I am not in favor of censorship. But I post images selectively.

What are your thoughts?

I confided to my psychiatrist that I’m obsessed with the nuclear reactor crisis in Japan and that I’ll be disappointed when they get it under control. I was shocked when he said he felt the same. “Of course.” he agreed, “We all crave this drama, it’s great. It lets us externalize all our feelings of anger and chaos.”  We both agreed that we weren’t actually hoping for something apocalyptic, although I am personally ready for the world to end.

A better way to distract myself has been tumblr, where I can scroll through images for hours.  I’ve learned to avoid the ones with the aggressively teen-aged nihilism: All those morbid photos of skinny kids with septum rings and animated gifs from horror films and topless hippies with guns in their mouths.

There is so much beauty out there. Visual stimulation excites some pleasure center in the brain, like eating chocolate or listening to an aria. Tonight my tumbler stopped working and it was horrifying to be cut off from my new addiction.  I have a lot of avoidance to accomplish. Max’s birthday is coming up at the end of the month.

Can we distract ourselves from everything serious with a focus on beauty products? I’ve always found them comforting, their promise of transforming us from ugly ducklings into flawless supermodels. Okay, so, what is your favorite beauty product that has surprised you by actually doing something good? I really want to know (remember: I’m desperate,)

My favorite product is Kate Sommerville Sunblock 55.  It’s light, greaseless, no fragrance, and leaves a dewy glow.  You don’t have to wear make up and you don’t have to get skin cancer.  I prosthelytize about it to everyone.

Okay, what’s yours?