Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Intention envelopes.

Dear Diary,

From time to time, the real me surfaces. It's very worrying for me actually. The real me is like that episode of father ted when hackett finally becomes sober and he says DON'T TELL ME I'M STILL ON THAT FECKING ISLAND! (I may be combining two different episodes here). I had a trigger today, and its the most unusual thing. I went down stairs and thought I'd practice some piano. As I went in I noticed that there were two chairs, and neither were fit for purpose. At that moment my heart sank, I realised how inadequate things are in this house, how if I had middle class parents they would support me more with my cultural interests, but instead i'm left with my mulatto immigrant fucking parents who are 'doing their best' but it really isn't good enough at all.

I need a fucking music stool. I need a fucking tuned piano. I need there not to be any FUCKING ornaments above the piano that give harmonic resonance. I need the G note to have three fucking strings. I need UNA CORDA to work. NOTHING FUCKING WORKS. Its just like 1984 when Winston has no shaving blades. It's a symptom of a faulty society, a faulty life. I want my life to work. I want to be in a job that I can afford to properly live. This isn't about being able to afford a new piano, it's about being able to pay the fucking rent and bills.

I've already sussed that I won't get that job that I was offered last week.  I want my life to work. I want my FUCKING life back. Who took my fucking life away. Why cant these employers take me on. I'm trying so fucking hard, I'm trying harder than most people and I get nothing. They say its my attitude. HOW MUCH MORE DO I NEED TO CHANGE IN ORDER TO FIT IN. I'm tired of a world where I need to change because I'm not good enough. I'm tired of being told that I'm not good enough. I'm tired of trying so fucking hard to be good enough and then some white bastard with their entitlement tells me that 'you dont have to work so hard', FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT KONIGSBERG FUCK. I'm being torn apart by your standards and I can't live up to them, yet you need to do nothing and get rewarded for it. I'm tired.

I feel so  tired right now. I'm losing my ability for words, as my anger subsides and my sadness grows, I begin to lose my real self again, and I become some manufactured terrified house nigger who doesn't want to ruffle any feathers. I give up my authenticity to conform, I conform to survive and find acceptance, and in that way I find a new sense of identity through other-ness. The reality is, the darkness that I use as a comic device is so deep inside me, it's not a comic device. I'm glad if I can make it funny, but when you look at it in the nude, it is just ugliness.

Last week I was organising one of my old folders, and I wrote 'intention envelopes'. I wrote these a few years back, and I made a list of things that I really want to follow up and that I want, but I can't afford right now or just can't work right now. the really nice thing is that I've torn up half of those intention envelopes, but maybe I should write new ones. I feel quite relieved that I wrote all this anger. I feel tired now.

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