Simplicity is unbearable

My life feels artificial because I imagine that my ancient ancestors once described their hunting and gathering and the weather around a campfire at the end of the day. But me? What do I have to discuss? I filed sheets of paper by account department and as a receptionist forwarded strangers to people I barely know. The rest of my day included watching Stargate reruns and The Day of the Jackal.

How many of my experiences relate to me? In the "information age" we don't experience, we gather information. However, I also doubt my intuition about the relevance of my forebears' experiences. How much time did they think and talk about spirits, gods, black magic and other things they didn't directly experience.

Setting the Sail

I’m raising the sail, setting out from a bay with a bad flu, but harbouring no ill will. So many lovely people helped meek misanthropic me in 2006, almost innumerable, some unwittingly. My partner Paul with his love, patience and commitment, resolutely an artist. Yoga teachers Ron and Dan, and my fellow naked yoga buddies, who continue to show me how to accept myself physically, spiritually. The Vancouver General Hospital Outpatient Clinic teaching me the crutch of Cognitive Therapy. My many friends and family continue to love me despite my many failings. You know who you are GB, BL, JL, KW, RG, CM, KWM, MJM and many more.

And I’m quitting my job of the last 10 years. I poured my soul into it. But a job is no cask – it’s a sieve. I’m just learning that now, that a job is just day to day and doesn’t build character or karma. I suppose I’m brave for quitting. But I’m scared and I wonder if I’ll survive. My grandma Opal helps me from the afterlife with a generous donation.

Setting the sail – stale metaphor for the start of a new year. Particularly for me because I feel embarrassed about recognizing these numerical markers, “beginning of a new year.” Arbitary rituals. What rituals aren’t arbitrary? Maybe rituals can’t help but be arbitrary but that doesn’t negate their value.

Now, back to Setting the Sail, a gamelan piece properly known by its Javanese title Babar Layar. While I listen (tonight in a hot bath) all the clichéd ideas of “setting the sail” leave my mind. This piece which I’ve loved for 20 years, from the first moments I’ve heard it, changes my mood. My petty concerns morph into grand schemes, my heart broadens to accept my squeamish dislikes. I’m more tolerant because I’m embarking on some grand adventure. Possibilities are endless, mysterious. The music plays simple but subtle tricks with minor and major modes, and long periods of repetition split up by rhythmic irregularities. And the tune manipulates my inner ear so deliberately, and with such gravity, that I feel that this is no cheap trick, its not merely trying to delight and entertain me, but teach me something.

I hope I keep remembering Babar Layar as I try to reimagine my life this year.

Angst, ague, amigos

This is my 3rd day home sick. The symptoms include feeling guilty about not being at work infecting my comrades, capaciously hungry with morning nausea and a gurgly tummy, wanting to sleep all the time but it's difficult to sleep, fatigue, hot/cold flashes and a yoyo libido. Tell me it's my andropause! Though Id like think Ive already been thru that selfish shit.

A herbalist friend would have me soak in the hottest bath with a dollop of chilies and ginger powder. I didnt have the ginger so I added crushed chillies and some cinnamon powder because it smells like it couldnt hurt. It felt great as I soaked listening to severe bedayan gamelan pieces. But now I feel hungover and my bum feels unnaturally hot. (Note: chilies have an alarming effect on delicate tissue... so, now you know).

A would-be friend who disappeared for 2 months knocked on my door and asked to use my phone. He had been through hell and was bringing it back to share with us all. I consoled him gravely; rigor mortis with anxiety. Adding to my anxiety is my work piling up as my body refuses to heal (Heal, boy, heal!), not calling my psychologist cause I'm too anxious to talk about my anxiety, and anxious about avoiding music practice because the social scene makes me anxious.

no laughing dark matter

There is a tragic clash between Truth and the world. Pure undistorted truth burns up the world. -Nikolai Berdyaev

Awad's word of the day included this dreadful quote. I believe it as much as I hate and fear it.

My catastrophic attitude was triggered by a painful crush, which has been going on for about a month or more. I'm one of Pavlov's dogs. He has a fascinating personality... intense and tragic... and he gives me lots of compliments. But most of the time he avoids me just as intensely. It's a wick burning in my mind and groin.

I'm not ready for depression again, but here it is. I'm making a cozy little hole for myself. Meanwhile I shuffle off to a joyless day of work every morning. For me this is bravery. What do I look like to everyone else? A broken marionette? No, that would tug the heartstrings, and most of us don't like to be sad.

I'm very concerned with what others think of me. Do they think of me as I see myself? A wimp, a shirker, a snob, damaged, no fun.

Revelations...

• Gris Clair...Serge Lutens... Oh duh parfum! Hints of stone-washed lavender, Gin and Tonic, the ubiquitous vanilla, and a dry pine copse. Thanks Kemal.

• I've met a remarkable guy, depressed, scatter shot mind organized like an essay. We've got similar souls but he's on a different level, sharing the same space. He's a provocateur, a trickster, and I wished we deserved him as an artist. But he deserves himself as an artist. He feels alienated and compromised in our society of lifeless personas. His self love is brittle. I want to show him he's complete. Even Narcissus chose nature as his mirror, not some shabby intellectual imitation. "Pull down thy vanity" - Ezra Pound "I'll be your mirror" - Lou Reed "Insanity is a placebo" - GRM

• After a year nursing myself back to health on pills, wills, cognitive therapy, walking the talk, generally being Pavlov's dog's body... I'm becoming a productive citizen (as opposed to deductive I suppose). Returning to work after being sick for so long is not so revelatory, but it is surprising how my dread has been replaced by the old familiarity. I just hope this old security blanket of familiarity doesn't breed contempt, or fear, and thoughts of death. What keeps me alive is an enthusiasm for tenderness and pleasure.