The Sickly Lows of a Depressive Nihilist

Content Warning: Stream of conscience/thought, anti-life talk.

A stiffening numbness takes over, leaving you in a semi-paralytic state. You simply stare in whatever direction your eyes are pointing, no compass necessary. Would it really be that different if the view was of a seaside or a nice countryside? Nothing could fool you into thinking you’d enjoy it even if it were a tropical rainforest with a waterfall and colourful birds with hooked orange beaks fluttering through the canopy. You’re too drenched in grey which occasionally smudges into charcoal like an accidental tipping of an ashtray. You’re ashes without the flames. Something dead and used up. You have no future and upon further consideration you realise you had no past, at least not one you’re willing to think about.

Memories can be comforting, they remind you that you once did, once had, once thought, once realised, once learned, once laughed… but they can be an abstract puzzle of disconnected images that diffract through your mind and clash horribly. Nothing makes sense. Why? Why are you here? What is the purpose of thought? Why is it so hard to breathe when you know there’s more than enough air in your room? Why do you see flashes of things you’ve tried to bury for so long, things that weren’t reduced to ashes but rather remained only slightly charred around the edges? Are you a worker ant scurrying to be of service to the queen simply so more ants come into existence, and then what, those ants in turn do that, why? If you exist simply so existence itself continues then isn’t it pointless? That makes existence the most important purpose in the world. But again, why? Wouldn’t nothingness be equally effective in producing nothing of actual purpose? Then again, what is purpose and why do we assume it is necessary? Sounds like capitalism, working because you’re meant to so as to be productive for maximum profit, squeezing out every ounce of your productivity. So does that mean capitalism is instinctive and necessary? Maybe your whole purpose is to be a contributing part of a society that fools itself into thinking that it has a future when in fact each individual perishes at one point or another with only blood and sweats splattered behind to be remembered by briefly. An aim for the aimless.

The numbness is sometimes replaced with a strange melancholy that moistens your eyes and takes up all your energy and diffuses it into nothingness. Your fatigue is hard to explain but you feel weary to your bones and a few decades older. You stop bothering to do basic things that your daily routine consists of. You even give up on things you love, not because you don’t love them anymore but because you simply cannot bring yourself to do them. Like an artist’s block only magnified. You realise how dangerous this could get. A malady to the brain isn’t like a broken leg, you don’t simply put it in a cast and wait for it to heal. That is why mental illness is far worse. If your brain is healthy, you can live fairly steadily and maybe even happily. But if the disease is in your central unit, there’s little you can do. How does one escape one’s thoughts?

I used to think people who said they were depressed were trying too hard to be emo or seem deep. That is until I developed a depressive disorder. How I could ever have thought it a joke is beyond me. You have those lovely folk who understand and say they hate that it’s happening to you and those that’ll ignorantly call you a liberal snowflake (I’m not).

I’m still depressed and it is different for everyone so nobody can understand what anyone is going through even if they have the same ailment. Some wake up and decide not to move from their beds, others get up and act cheerful with plastic smiles, others still go through the day like a ghost nobody else can see and put on a brave front for themselves out of sheer willpower.

All suffer and none should have to. But why not? If suffering makes life seem more real or more abstract, both circumstances are infinitely more bearable than the disturbing reality of mundane work-to-live-then-die-bored life. Some days, I live in a haze of fantasy, imagining dystopias and utopias to comfort myself into believing in idealistic worlds or that this one isn’t the worst. I like to dream, completely blocking out any interaction with reality and people. Other days I sit there observing reality and people. Both mental frames are more comforting than active participation in the play of life. Looking through the goggles of fantasy or of existentialism can make the black and white seem kaleidoscopic or grey. It depends on you. Not everything is linear. You’ll never gain anything from simply succumbing to normality. Then again, you’ll never gain anything, ever.

Life on Earth is like a purgatory. Monsters lurk in the shadows, stalking you every step of the way and you never know when they’ll pounce out. Depression is knowing that all the monsters you should worry about are in your head.


We’re All Degenerates Here

RETCH, you wretch

societal standards so low

read the book and bitch about it

don’t devour the preacher

their laws don’t matter here

all you need is your privilege

lock the door on morals

your love is immoral mine is

my God-given right and

don’t pry on my twisted perversions

I am under God’s grace

waving my banner of exclusion

and giving you hell for your life decisions

if my own show any honesty

then burn me at the cleansing pyre

lest my soul be purified of sin

don’t tear away my mask of honour

plastic and lies wrought it for me

for millions of lives I bought it

my ancestors colonized the world

for I am superior and you are a bane

here to serve me then wither away

dare argue, heretic, degenerate

we’ll beat, batter and bruise your body

and dispose of you in a fashionable way

or simply send you to rot as a warning

to other delinquents who may resist or

revolt against our holy reign

which life deems poisonous and wrong

but you’ll see it’s right in the end

when all that’s left is soot and rubble

I’ll rise a dead, cursed man, but I’ll rise in a

coffin world buried to never be retrieved.

above, stars finally splutter in supernova

glad to turn away from the tyranny,

phlegm, and bile that is man

Yves Klein and Interpretation, Part 2: The Strange Hell of Beauty

Intentio Lectoris

I left off last time with the idea that Klein’s works seek to create a void, to instantiate a nothingness.  Why, exactly, is this such a horrifying idea?

Short answer: anyone can play God; Klein’s trying to become Anti-God.

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.  And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.

Now, the idea of creation ex nihilo is something that drives philosophers batty; to make a very long story short, it’s something only God can get away with.  Of course, creation has a flip side in annihilation; anything that now is, can just as easily not be.

This is the key message of Yves Klein.  To return to the original primal void requires more than simple destruction, but rather an act of God, a true annihilation of being.  Klein, time and again, attempts…

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Bargou 08 Update Tunisian Folk Music for Modern Times

Bandcamp Daily

Bargou 08 Photos by Ahmed Makhlouf

“World music is changing,” says Sofyann Ben Youssef, speaking from his home in Brussels, Belgium. “In the information era, the boundaries between countries and cultures are disappearing, so this old ‘world music’ concept is also disappearing slowly.” The Tunisian musician and producer, fresh from a trip to Nigeria to record music for a documentary, is discussing the heavy grooves of the debut album from his group, Bargou 08. The project dates back some three or four years, when Ben Youssef’s childhood friend Nidhal Yahyaoui asked him to produce a new project named after an isolated village in the Northwest of the country.

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Elderly Care Home In Beirut After 15 Years Of Civil War — Edge of Humanity Magazine

Photographer Jacky Chapman is the Edge of Humanity Magazine contributor of this social documentary photography. These images are from her project ‘Care Home Beirut, Lebanon Late 1990’s“. To see Jacky’s body of work click on any image. Between 1975 and 1990 Lebanon suffered 15 years of civil war accompanied by […]

via Elderly Care Home In Beirut After 15 Years Of Civil War — Edge of Humanity Magazine

The Original Great Gatsby: Petronius’ Satyricon — Interesting Literature

In this week’s Dispatches from the Secret Library, Dr Oliver Tearle considers the ancient Roman novel that inspired James Joyce and F. Scott Fitzgerald Today is Bloomsday. James Joyce’s vast modernist masterpiece, Ulysses (1922), is set in Dublin on a single day, 16 June 1904. Since at least the 1950s, devotees of Joyce’s novel have marked the […]

via The Original Great Gatsby: Petronius’ Satyricon — Interesting Literature