Those were the questions I ended up posing and maybe not answering in the following letter (to my friend M) which I shall divulge here in censored form:
About conformity:
Friends with benefits does seem a good idea in theory. Society puts too much pressure on people to get into relationships, get married, live a standard cardboard-cut-out little life and behave like a herd of sheep- anguished if you find yourself not following the flock and eager not to become ostracised from the group- but WHY?
Why not rejoice in being an individual? In being the one sheep who looks up from mindlessly chewing and starts asking "who am I? What is this life all about?" rather than just passively accepting everything without a thought.
The differences between animals and humans:
The difference between animals and humans is that we ask questions and are not just programmed to survive. A sheep would never have a panic-crisis thinking about it's future as a lamb-chop, or get depressed about the limitations of it's existence, or even really acknowledge it's individuality.
That's why life is so difficult. Humans have that animal brutality- the killing instinct is still there I think, as are all the other animal desires which we have become ashamed of- but combined with this is our awareness of cause and effect, our human intelligence. I think that's why humans are the most evil and destructive creatures on earth.
I read a quotation once which says "of all the creatures made, man is the most detestable, he is the only one that posesses malice, the only once who inflicts pain for sport, knowing it to be pain"
Still, I know you are already a misanthrope, so I shouldn't encourage you.
On the pitfalls of being promiscuous:
Being a slag is all well and good, but really, I've been there and it doesn't make you feel happy at all. It makes me feel disgusted with myself in a sort of subtle way. You tell yourself it doesn't matter, it's just guilt-free pleasure, why the hell not, but even when you feel at your lowest it's good to know that you have your self-control, and giving up control of your body to various people without a care in the world strips you of that in a way.
I don't really care for my body that much, it's just the case which carries "me" or "my soul" but that's exactly the reason why it's important- it's your armour, your protection, what separates you from the cruelties of the outside world.
If you treat yourself as if you're worthless, you're only going to feel even more worthless.
On Hedonism
Another part of me is tempted to say- well, why not be a hedonist and squeeze as much pleasure out of life as possible? If one could live on a blissful tropical island where none of the rules of this society applied, one could put this into practice. Why not just lie in a hammok in the sun and enjoy life. Eat fruit off trees when you're hungry, indulge in pleasure when the desire takes you, just truly live in the moment and never do anything you don't truly want to do? Be guided by your desires?
The problem with putting this into practice in our world is that pleasure is destructive. And eventually you have to go to work to earn the money to finance your pleasure-filled life, which may end up being unpleasant, and an obligation which goes against your desires.
And even if you lived a life where your sole aim was to attain pleasure, drink, drugs and sex say, all the ecstacies, eventually the futility of this would become depressing and the excess destructive. Perhaps pleasure alone is not enough in it's purest form. One needs to feel a sense of achievement, of personal meaning and value.
Stop being unhappy about your life!!!!!
Everyone's afraid that their life doesn't mean anything and when they die it won't make a blind bit of difference. By becoming famous people hope to achieve immortality and to defy death, by going down in history and becoming timeless.
People also immortalise themselves by creating Gods. It seems ingrained in human nature to do this since we've being doing it for millions of years. Right back to the Aztecs even sacrificing human life to please their Gods in the hope of living forever.
So what's to be done?
Nothing really, other than being joyful about life rather than getting distressed about it. Realising that life doesn't have any meaning liberates you, the world is so vast and there's so much to learn. By some astonishing co-incidence you are a consciousness occupying a body with senses with which to experience this vast world. It may just be one little planet among millions, but all the same, realise the miracle of having this consciousness, right now, of having a window into the world- it's so fucking bizarre when you really think about it
You say you would rather "be someone else" but it's all pretty much the same thing whoever you are, and it's kind of a privilidge to even be "being" that it seems kind of unappreciative to want a different body/mind.
And when you think you've got nothing but "not-being" after this life, suicide seems illogical too- like not seeing a film to the end, walking out of the cinema and falling into the abyss
How religious people probably see it
I guess religious people are hoping to walk out of the cinema (life) and find the real world there and waiting (the afterlife/heaven). A part of me still believes that I will walk out of the cinema and blink my eyes in the daylight and find myself in the "spirit" world. Atheism seems so lacking in hope and resigned.
An update on how I am actually doing now:
I had a two or three day mega depression after Marta left. Just felt so alone and trapped and DOWN, and that feeling of absolute sorrow when the slightest thing or self-pitying thought sets you off crying again. It was such an extreme anguish it was unusual. Cried almost all the way through a film while sat on my own in the dark.
Am glad am out of "it" now. I feel bad for you if you feel like that all the time. It is just a chemical i think though, a brain fuck-up, so keep taking your anti sad pills and smile. Sorry for weirdness of this letter, much love and thinking about you and vibes of joy,
S xxx
(That's just my personal opinion anyway, do tell me yours if you care to)
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
hitch-hiking at Carnac plage
So, it's been a fair long time since i've updated you about my little life
My current personal kitty cat which belongs to my landlady is sat on a table in my room. The sweet little thing came to scratch at my door. It's nearly one o clock in the morning here, but i'm not feeling so sleepy, so here we are, vaguely communicating with the outside world.
Today was one of those gorgeous sunny days- one of the first of the new year, a bright warm fresh opening up of the blue heavens,zassssssssssssssxxx (moustache my kitty just padded across the keyboard without a care in the world)
One of those gorgeous days which you know are going to imprint themselves in your memory when you look back and reflect on your year, on your past, on your brief collection of joys.
The sweet strange retired teacher who i told you about in previous posts, who is always so eager to invite me to things and make me a part of her life, phoned me today and asked me if i would like to go on a little drive to the beach.
The nearest coast is the pretty little town of Carnac. We met at the town hall in the centre of Auray, and she drove me out to the beach. The sun was all resplendant and glorious and the beach was grey in the heat and sparkly as if with sprinkles of precious stones.
There were many cheerful, good natured french people going about their business, enjoying the sunshine. People sat on the beach leaning against the far wall up where the sand dunes are, lazily bronzing themselves and reading books. There was a man on a bicycle who shouted as we were taking a photo "it will be even more beautiful with me in it!" before zooming off cheerfully.
Day of sweet snippets of conversation with strangers. Marie asked about three or four different groups of people if we were heading in the right direction to find a bar or cafe. We were assured it was just ten minutes down the road, along the seafront.
Just as we were beginning to wonder if this mystical bar was but a sandy desert mirage, it came into view. Red chairs and wooden tables glistening in the sunlight, a terrace completely empty. The bar was shut.
This was somewhat inconvenient because both of us were starting to need the toilet. The closest public ones were locked, and the town centre was a fair walk away, a good fourty five minutes treck.
Marie is still quite young despite being retired from teaching, but all the same walks very slowly, more out of a desire to enjoy life at a relaxed pace, as one who has ample time to spare would do, rather than for any physical reasons.
She seems to be one of those people who is not ashamed to ask other people for help. Me on the other hand, only resort of seeking out others' charity when all other options have been exhausted. Her lack of embarassment is quite charming.
We stood in the sand dusted road, the sun glaring down on us, sticking our thumb out and waving frantically at any car heading in the direction of town. Marie's sense of direction is abysmal, and this is why we went on to get lost another few times, and had to go on another hitch hiking adventure to find the car.
Lots of people with empty cars were insensitive to our plight, or perhaps, unlike Marie, they did not have time to spare (or had convinced themselves they didn't)
Eventually a woman in her thirties with a little modest car pulled up for us and rearranged a whole load of junk inside the car to allow us to sit down comfortably. She had a sweet brown eyed little toddler in the back of the car, a sweet little boy.
After a little awkward small talk- Marie excitedly and childishly recounting every detail of our adventure thus far and our inability to find a toilet- I learned that the woman works in the same secondary school as me in Auray! Our paths have never yet crossed because she always does her classes in another part of the building, and never comes to the staff room. What coincidence! I love hitchhiking because of the way it throws you into contact with a person as if by complete chance. One would say it is the universe which desides, some weird quirk of destiny.
Hitchhiking is a great way to travel because it brings together people who would never othewise have met- sometimes one person is in dire need of help, and is as a result put in that position of weakenss- reliance on others, reliance on charity. I have never picked up a hitchhiker, but i would love to do so- so long as they would show me the due courtesy of one who is a guest in your house would. I would love to make them tea and a bacon and egg butty and do the whole hostess thing to the max. Not sure how i would go about cooking that up in a car, but this is my little fantasy.
Is interesting how people react to the extreme kindness of others, of being indebted to others. I watched the amusing french film Hors de Prix which stars the well known actress Audrey Tatou. It is the story of a golddigger woman, played by Tatou, who uses her charms and wit to attract rich men, and lives her life thus, in a joyful whirlwind of guiltless take take take. In the end she realises the errors of her ways and gets with the less well off waiter-hero.
So the whole giving and taking thing is really interesting to me. Also etiquette. How you must follow a pattern of behaviour and stick within certain boundries. It seems with a good knowledge of how to behave correctly and avoid making a socially unacceptable faux pas, one can get away with murder.
Of course different social groups and communities have different etiquette, one mustn't forget that, and the ability to blend and pass from one group to another without being treated with distain and marked out as an alien, is a real skill to have.
Me, i couldn't care less. I'm still going to be the same Susie no matter who i'm with, and am not prepared to bow down to anyone. Some people get the abridged polite version, such as sweet Marie, others get me in full flow, vociferating loudly.
My sweet kitten has installed itself at the foot of my bed. The house is silent. I imagine my landlady and her husband to be sleeping in their bedroom on the ground floor. The only sound is the click clack of my fingers glancing over the keys.
After finally finding the toilets in Carnac, in a simple but friendly brasserie, Marie and I felt much relieved, although I couldn't help coughing up my guts in a most ungainly manner, I was wretching and hacking like a tuburculosis sufferer.
The bar was cool and shady compared to the outside atomosphere. In the corner a group of elderly ladies were grouped around a table. I've noticed that the elderly in France seem far more sociable with one another than the elderly in England. Perhaps our old people will pass the time of day with the neighbour, or get a weekly visit from a son or daughter, but you don't really see old people supporting one another in quite the same way as in France.
A few days ago I passed in the street two elderly ladies linking arms with each other, not to prevent one another from falling, but simply because they were friends and wanted to be close to one another. They were laughing together at what seemed to be a very good joke. It's those sort of sights that cheer me up more than little scampy children running around, since it is good to know that even in those twilight years of life, there is still good company, good conversation and general joy to be enjoyed.
The owner of the bar, a big robust looking blonde man of perhaps fourty five years old smiled at us, and humoured Marie's childish and very direct demand that he take a photo of us posing on the bar stools. He obliged her demand that he bring me a little jug of milk, and loudly told the whole bar with pride of my Englishness.
The barman, usually the bar owner, welcomed my Englishness with a cheerful smile and genuine beaming eyes. He told me that it is usually only in summer that the English start coming to his bar. He said that he liked English people. There you go. Approved.
In order to find the car to go home, we had to follow a rather serious dogwalking couple who were perhaps in their sixties. They were rich Paris folk who spend half the year in the big city, half the year enjoying the fresh Breton air and the beaches of Carnac. The directions they gave us when the left us turned out to be quite dubious.
Eventually we resorted to sticking our thumb out frantically and got a rather eccentric man (he didn't say much, perhaps it was his weird accent that gave me the impression of oddness. Friendly oddness. Or perhaps the look in his eyes, or that he asked me if i could hold a clear plastic bag filled with water and knotted at the top that contained a little silver fish. When I got out of the car I swear he took a nice long look at my bare legs.)
There you go. That's your lot for now. Night for now and later I shall update you on the half term that i spent in Sheffield, certain cheeky love flirtations which I've been having (still forbidding myself from engaging in anything more than lusty glances. Feel like I am once again in the victorian era, cheekily training my spyglass on handsome young people who take my fancy at the opera, a corseted and repressed voyeur, watching others act out what I dare not act upon to get for myself)
Haha I just thought that was a sweet metaphor. I'm not at all unhappy. On the contrary. Pressure feels off...
Jeez just read that back, what an insane RAMBLE. Been speaking french too much today, got my french brain on which makes my english all jerky and unnatural. Also can't find the fucking full stop and comma on this new keyboard which is french.
Marta my darling Spanish friend leaves on Friday morning. *cries*
My current personal kitty cat which belongs to my landlady is sat on a table in my room. The sweet little thing came to scratch at my door. It's nearly one o clock in the morning here, but i'm not feeling so sleepy, so here we are, vaguely communicating with the outside world.
Today was one of those gorgeous sunny days- one of the first of the new year, a bright warm fresh opening up of the blue heavens,zassssssssssssssxxx (moustache my kitty just padded across the keyboard without a care in the world)
One of those gorgeous days which you know are going to imprint themselves in your memory when you look back and reflect on your year, on your past, on your brief collection of joys.
The sweet strange retired teacher who i told you about in previous posts, who is always so eager to invite me to things and make me a part of her life, phoned me today and asked me if i would like to go on a little drive to the beach.
The nearest coast is the pretty little town of Carnac. We met at the town hall in the centre of Auray, and she drove me out to the beach. The sun was all resplendant and glorious and the beach was grey in the heat and sparkly as if with sprinkles of precious stones.
There were many cheerful, good natured french people going about their business, enjoying the sunshine. People sat on the beach leaning against the far wall up where the sand dunes are, lazily bronzing themselves and reading books. There was a man on a bicycle who shouted as we were taking a photo "it will be even more beautiful with me in it!" before zooming off cheerfully.
Day of sweet snippets of conversation with strangers. Marie asked about three or four different groups of people if we were heading in the right direction to find a bar or cafe. We were assured it was just ten minutes down the road, along the seafront.
Just as we were beginning to wonder if this mystical bar was but a sandy desert mirage, it came into view. Red chairs and wooden tables glistening in the sunlight, a terrace completely empty. The bar was shut.
This was somewhat inconvenient because both of us were starting to need the toilet. The closest public ones were locked, and the town centre was a fair walk away, a good fourty five minutes treck.
Marie is still quite young despite being retired from teaching, but all the same walks very slowly, more out of a desire to enjoy life at a relaxed pace, as one who has ample time to spare would do, rather than for any physical reasons.
She seems to be one of those people who is not ashamed to ask other people for help. Me on the other hand, only resort of seeking out others' charity when all other options have been exhausted. Her lack of embarassment is quite charming.
We stood in the sand dusted road, the sun glaring down on us, sticking our thumb out and waving frantically at any car heading in the direction of town. Marie's sense of direction is abysmal, and this is why we went on to get lost another few times, and had to go on another hitch hiking adventure to find the car.
Lots of people with empty cars were insensitive to our plight, or perhaps, unlike Marie, they did not have time to spare (or had convinced themselves they didn't)
Eventually a woman in her thirties with a little modest car pulled up for us and rearranged a whole load of junk inside the car to allow us to sit down comfortably. She had a sweet brown eyed little toddler in the back of the car, a sweet little boy.
After a little awkward small talk- Marie excitedly and childishly recounting every detail of our adventure thus far and our inability to find a toilet- I learned that the woman works in the same secondary school as me in Auray! Our paths have never yet crossed because she always does her classes in another part of the building, and never comes to the staff room. What coincidence! I love hitchhiking because of the way it throws you into contact with a person as if by complete chance. One would say it is the universe which desides, some weird quirk of destiny.
Hitchhiking is a great way to travel because it brings together people who would never othewise have met- sometimes one person is in dire need of help, and is as a result put in that position of weakenss- reliance on others, reliance on charity. I have never picked up a hitchhiker, but i would love to do so- so long as they would show me the due courtesy of one who is a guest in your house would. I would love to make them tea and a bacon and egg butty and do the whole hostess thing to the max. Not sure how i would go about cooking that up in a car, but this is my little fantasy.
Is interesting how people react to the extreme kindness of others, of being indebted to others. I watched the amusing french film Hors de Prix which stars the well known actress Audrey Tatou. It is the story of a golddigger woman, played by Tatou, who uses her charms and wit to attract rich men, and lives her life thus, in a joyful whirlwind of guiltless take take take. In the end she realises the errors of her ways and gets with the less well off waiter-hero.
So the whole giving and taking thing is really interesting to me. Also etiquette. How you must follow a pattern of behaviour and stick within certain boundries. It seems with a good knowledge of how to behave correctly and avoid making a socially unacceptable faux pas, one can get away with murder.
Of course different social groups and communities have different etiquette, one mustn't forget that, and the ability to blend and pass from one group to another without being treated with distain and marked out as an alien, is a real skill to have.
Me, i couldn't care less. I'm still going to be the same Susie no matter who i'm with, and am not prepared to bow down to anyone. Some people get the abridged polite version, such as sweet Marie, others get me in full flow, vociferating loudly.
My sweet kitten has installed itself at the foot of my bed. The house is silent. I imagine my landlady and her husband to be sleeping in their bedroom on the ground floor. The only sound is the click clack of my fingers glancing over the keys.
After finally finding the toilets in Carnac, in a simple but friendly brasserie, Marie and I felt much relieved, although I couldn't help coughing up my guts in a most ungainly manner, I was wretching and hacking like a tuburculosis sufferer.
The bar was cool and shady compared to the outside atomosphere. In the corner a group of elderly ladies were grouped around a table. I've noticed that the elderly in France seem far more sociable with one another than the elderly in England. Perhaps our old people will pass the time of day with the neighbour, or get a weekly visit from a son or daughter, but you don't really see old people supporting one another in quite the same way as in France.
A few days ago I passed in the street two elderly ladies linking arms with each other, not to prevent one another from falling, but simply because they were friends and wanted to be close to one another. They were laughing together at what seemed to be a very good joke. It's those sort of sights that cheer me up more than little scampy children running around, since it is good to know that even in those twilight years of life, there is still good company, good conversation and general joy to be enjoyed.
The owner of the bar, a big robust looking blonde man of perhaps fourty five years old smiled at us, and humoured Marie's childish and very direct demand that he take a photo of us posing on the bar stools. He obliged her demand that he bring me a little jug of milk, and loudly told the whole bar with pride of my Englishness.
The barman, usually the bar owner, welcomed my Englishness with a cheerful smile and genuine beaming eyes. He told me that it is usually only in summer that the English start coming to his bar. He said that he liked English people. There you go. Approved.
In order to find the car to go home, we had to follow a rather serious dogwalking couple who were perhaps in their sixties. They were rich Paris folk who spend half the year in the big city, half the year enjoying the fresh Breton air and the beaches of Carnac. The directions they gave us when the left us turned out to be quite dubious.
Eventually we resorted to sticking our thumb out frantically and got a rather eccentric man (he didn't say much, perhaps it was his weird accent that gave me the impression of oddness. Friendly oddness. Or perhaps the look in his eyes, or that he asked me if i could hold a clear plastic bag filled with water and knotted at the top that contained a little silver fish. When I got out of the car I swear he took a nice long look at my bare legs.)
There you go. That's your lot for now. Night for now and later I shall update you on the half term that i spent in Sheffield, certain cheeky love flirtations which I've been having (still forbidding myself from engaging in anything more than lusty glances. Feel like I am once again in the victorian era, cheekily training my spyglass on handsome young people who take my fancy at the opera, a corseted and repressed voyeur, watching others act out what I dare not act upon to get for myself)
Haha I just thought that was a sweet metaphor. I'm not at all unhappy. On the contrary. Pressure feels off...
Jeez just read that back, what an insane RAMBLE. Been speaking french too much today, got my french brain on which makes my english all jerky and unnatural. Also can't find the fucking full stop and comma on this new keyboard which is french.
Marta my darling Spanish friend leaves on Friday morning. *cries*
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