Staying Insane

Love and Sex. Delicious and intimate.

In Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood, the protagonist Snowman gazed intently upon two tabs simultaneously flashing on his computer screen: pornography on the left; decapitations on the right. Sex and violence were the same, body parts being ripped and flying everywhere, accompanied by the gushing of blood. I wonder if our brains react to either in the same way, the same synapses frying up.

Just as much as I love Sex, I probably love Violence as well. The climax of the senses.

Wet tongue wrapping around my penis, a mixture of saliva and semen coating the erect muscle in a glistening new silken dress. Oh blissful ecdysis! The supple nerves tucked under the fleshy foreskin twitched ravenously, hungering, begging for more stimulation. The gape of hell was a dripping ecstasy, unfathomably more tempting than any blinding gates of heaven.

Icy beads of sweat balancing upon tautly stretched skin. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Drip. Exhale. Drip. Arms feeling the weight of the skeleton underneath, a piercing chill shivering through to the fingertips and lingering there. Breathing was all the brain could muster. Breath! My ears were deaf to the thundering cries echoing through me, my brain deaf to the blood flowing down my flesh like the spray from a broken faucet. I am alive!

Sin take me. Sin is Love and sin is Human. Humanity is the only way to be sane in this insane landscape of whispering illusions.

Corona virus. COVID-19. Fines for going outside. Sky Shield. Pornography blockage. No going out for non-essential travel.

I feel like a trapped specimen, like one of those insects I would drop into a transparent plastic box when I was younger. They usually died within a week, even if I did occasionally feed them water and food? But I don’t really remember what I fed them. I did like their shiny shells, some of them a lacquer black, others chrysalis green. They felt normal to the touch, a clean barrier between my fingers and the grotesque veiny madness of an insect body. I could touch these bugs. I couldn’t touch worms, or even a squashed cockroach oozing with syrupy froth from the mixture of its gastric juices and the soap mixture my ex-girlfriend used to kill it with. The death of these insects were normal, even justified. They were ugly, squirming, unblinking. More foreign than the metal robots we create with our silicon chips and copper transistors and lines of JAVA script. Maybe because those metal husks looked like us, and the insects don’t.

Identity. Identity crisis again. Depression? Anxiety? Existentialism? Nausea and absurdity? Emancipation, alienation, ideology? Tragedy and catharsis? Fuck. Just another sorry would do. I’m sorry. Sorry for this. Sorry for that. Sorry makes everything normal again. Normal, or suppressed resignation that we can’t do anything about our differences. But we are forced to live under this fucking social contract? Oh no! I can’t do this because of my identity being a citizen of XXX country so I must follow its rules. Ha! Maybe thats why we are all going mad. Our identities meticulously constructed like an electrical circuit before we take our first breath or come out of our mother’s vagina. All the screams of pain, convulsions, gasps of air, stretching skin and splurging crimson doesn’t mean anything really.

So much for tabula rasa, Locke. Thank you Descarte? Or more like Fuck You!

Its 2:49am right now for me, in St. Andrews, UK. Just made a blog so I can write freely which I haven’t done in a long time. Well, now I don’t really know what to write.

Lets introduce myself to all the viewers of this blog. Nice to meet you all! I feel like I am typing/writing into a space where none of what I write matters. I just feel like it will be forever stored somewhere in the vast depths of information stored as 1’s and 0’s on an immaterial artificial space. Makes me feel like my attempts at asserting myself as a being or character in this world I for better or worse have been born to live in. I would like to reflect a little more on my perception of my place in this space. Theres currently around 7 billion humans living on this planet, but I really don’t care for probably more than 10-20ish of them. I wonder if that is how I think, doctors likewise probably don’t care about any of their patients either. Not saying that they should be blamed, but more that living in this self proclaimed ‘society’ feels more like im living in an artificially conjured social structure that deceives me into thinking that I am responsible and have agency in the functioning of this society. To be honest I feel like I really don’t matter to society at all.

I am not from St. Andrews, as in I was not born here. I lived most of my life somewhere else. But it doesn’t matter. It seems that no matter where I am situated in this world, I feel like I still am deceived or am playing into an artificial illusion that I am part of this social community. I only am now slowly realising that many of my beliefs of my own social identity feels surreal. For instance, my loyalty to the human race, or human development in general. Fuck that. There is no correlation between what species I am and whether I should be loyal or helpful to that same species. Even the concept of species is erroneous. I don’t think lions would help another lion just because they look the same. Fucking racism? Speciesism?

So what am I supposed to do, knowing that all these responsibilities that come with my identity as a human being part of a greater race is conjured magic? This dream of nations, of glorification is probably all superfluous shit to occupy our minds with and concentrate labour and power into a few. So the question remains, what do I do?

I guess I would have to look back at when human communities were smaller, and they were only created to fulfil their survival needs. Anything more would be a deliberate social form of oppression, in order for someone to gain more than what they need. In this fabricated world filled with fake relations and responsibilities to religion, race, country, nation, climate, etc etc etc. I feel like I need to meditate on this more, to really dispel the effects of these ephemeral chains, and set my mind free to think for myself as an individual, to really find something worth doing. I do not want to participate in the false world of man.