self-reminders

The important work of moving the world forward does not wait to be done by perfect men.
-George Eliot

i think i finally get what you/bukowski meant by meta-narratives now. something about the fragmentation that's come with better education and generally, development of civilisation and all those art movements we can peer back at myopically through the lens of history, has created so many ways and forms of art and literature that the ones about society and life in general are near-impossible to write. some truths are enduring, but a lot of narratives nowsadays seem to tell actual almost-moralistic tales, from which i guess we're meant to perceive the truth about what it means to be human. maybe. i dunno.
in any case, because i have a superiority complex (hahaha) it used to annoy me a lot when people said things i thought were dumb. but i'm beginning to see that human beings ARE stupid and it's the attempt to not be stupid (which means stupid things have to be said, rather than ignored and pretended away) that leads to development. and that i am stupid. that might be the hardest part, forgiving myself.
ohwell. in any case

The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.
George Eliot

it never made much sense to me, the whole gay-lesbian big deal but now i think it's because it's what we grew up with. but everyday gay/lesbian/bi/transexuals struggle with it. so i guess we are still trying very hard to seek identity, us people in general. psychologists say children develop self-awareness between 18-24 months on average, and yet tons of people strive to find themselves (or give up entirely) all the time. i used to think, what the hell are you talking about, when people go on about identity crises, the struggle of self within society. but i guess well-adjustedness is a lie, huh.
in any case i thought about the Singapore pledge when i saw that quote. maybe someday the pledge will get rewritten - although there isn't anything wrong with pursuing happiness is there? although perhaps it's pursuit of a lie.
ohwell.

written on the body

'Jesus will overcome you,' cried the minister. (God the wrestler?)
"jesus will have his way with you!' (God the rapist?)
'Jesus is going from strength to strength!' (God the body builder?)
'Hand yourself over to Jesus and you will be returned with interest.'
I am prepared to accept the many-sidedness of God but I am sure that if God exists He is not a Building Society.
I had a boyfriend once, his name was Bruno. After forty years of dissolution and Mammon he found Jesus under a wardrobe. In fairness, the wardrobe had been slowly crushing the resistance from his lungs for about four hours. He did house clearances and had fallen foul of a double-doored Victorian loomer. The sort of wardrobe poor people lived in. He was eventually rescued by the fire brigade though he always maintained it was the Lord himself who had levitated the oak ever upwards. He took me to church with him soon after and gave a graphic account of how Jesus had come out of the closet to save him. 'Out of the closet and up into your heart,' raved the Pastor.
I never saw Bruno after that, he gave me his motorbike as a gesture of renouncement and prayed that it might lead me to the Lord. Sadly it blew up on the outskirts of Brighton.
Ripping through this harmless reverie, a pair of hands seized mine and started banging them together as if they were cymbals. I realised I was meant to be clapping in time to the beat and I remembered another piece of advice from my grandmother. 'When in the jungle you howl with the wolves.' I slapped a plastic grin on my face like a server at McDonald's and pretended to be having a good time. I wasn't having a bad time, I wasn't having any time at all. No wonder they talk about Jesus filling a vacuum as though human beings were thermos flasks. This was the most vacuous place I'd ever been. God may be compassionate but he must have some taste.
As I suspected, the sumo farmer was in charge of the collection, so as soon as he had joyfully collected my bent twenty pence piece, I fled. I fled into the raw fields where the sheep continued their grazing as they had done for ten centuries. I fled to the pond where the dragonflies fed. I fled till the church was a hard knot against the sky.

Written On The Body, Jeanette Winterson.
page 152-153

what struck me most about the catholic church's easter service was how right purvis was, about people's rituals and the habits which carry religion. there really isn't much in it that i can perceive, and it's really watered down now - people dont quite believe as devoutly these days, do they? lent, giving up something - she gave up mocha and replaced it with soy lattes. as her brother commented, 'gee, how penitent!' they get excited about church, talking about what this group did or that group did, and what they plan to do, but what about god? who talks about that? i envy their opium, the society they've built on some solid hollow faith. they talk about family, they enjoy food together, they laugh about everything and nothing, and the funny thing is, it does make one happier - even a disillusioned skeptic like me. as an outsider i understood nothing and felt none of the belief which binds them together. all i saw was that abstract belief is a lie tied with rituals and words spoken under the breath. or is it the other way round? perhaps it is the wrapping paper around what really matters - the present, the relationships, the egg-hunts and laughter.
but vacuousness, indeed.
in modern churches with rock songs and noisy prayers it feels like one has already entered the tongues of fire on the edge of hell. satan, what is satan? satan is male. satan is female. satan is hate, jealousy, rage, the other side of god. satan is created in the image of god. satan was an angel. what are angels? all their names end with iel. who knows why? somebody's idea of poetry perhaps. what is satan? satan is love. god is love. love is love, for god's sake. why does nobody say for satan's sake? why does anybody call their child stan? it looks so much like satan. and we all know satan is a bad, bad thing. or maybe just is. 'tis not good or bad, but thinking makes it so.' indeed, but since people can't help but think (the brain is an evolutionary product) maybe it would serve mankind better if we thought more. or perhaps we should just give in to vacuousness and allow the brain to fall away since we really don't need it anyway. tis not good or bad.