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Schadenfreude Play

11 October 2011
1:09 AM

I don't know where this playlist will take me. I don't know yet what dippy romances and hideous twists lie along its slow path. I don't know in what ways time will subtly corrode my character, my memories, my relationships, my dreams, only that it will. I might be expelled from college, suddenly healed from my mysterious skin disease, deliriously happy, sleeping with Matt, dead, or unchanged.

And right now, I don't care. The only thing on my mind is Schadenfreude - the victims of which pleasure will be college, my teachers, Milton Keynes, Matt, my family, the cult and that fat wanker Lance Mignot. Everyone, in other words. There is so much I have to do, in so little time. I feel nauseous and vitalized with it, the sense of drama and frustration only heightening my resolve to change, change EVERYTHING. I know what to do, I know how. All I have to do is start.

And I can see for miles and miles.

1:43 AM

Well, i've finished Schadenfreude. technically speaking. I never did exact sweet revenge on any of those people, unsurprisingly. my carefully concocted coup against LANCE failed miserably. everyone turned on me and i was left with only my own wan sense of justice. knowing you're right is all very well, but just no fun when no one else knows. as social animals we need others to verify our worth in ways like this. I was affronted for a couple of days and then just decided it was enough that I knew; every now and then i come up against a very hard, very proud core inside me. I like it.

No teacher schadenfreude, either; in fact, i'm worse than I've ever been at college, in almost all ways except the only one that really matters (Jacob and mags, I suppose) - I haven't handed in a single law piece yet, or english for that matter. I've written exactly one essay since coming back from holidays. Carole, i think, has given up on me pragmatically and simply relishes my ingenuity and wild intelligence. Malcolm smith has simply given up on threatening to expel me - to put it in his words, "you'll do what you want anyway, and still get the grades."

He's right.

My family, well. need I say anything?

The Family. well if anything, I'm doing their arrogant apathy and mediocrity proud. I'm stupidly adept at maintaining a state of near-degradation and degeneration - all the dozens of things I know i could be doing, easily, pleasurably, that would enhance the quality of my life, the lives around me and, most importantly, my perception of self, I am substituting for too many books, book reviews, films and film reviews. None for gretchen weiners.

Milton Keynes...see all the above.

and as for Matt. I thought the whole thing couldn't get more humiliating and heartbreaking but this is, you know, ME we're talking about. my life would be a tragedy if it weren't so comically pathetic. you should find an angsty, bleeding draft about this but anyway, Matt fucked remi and that's just the humiliating part. the heartbreaking part, well, right up until I found out we had reached a state of such simple pleasure in each other's company, and I genuinely felt i could count him among the Elite Troops of people I not only liked, but respected. I don't know what hurt more, realising he didn't deserve neither my like nor my respect...or realising he didn't even want it. That's probably what I meant to write, probably a week ago? I'm in Sehnsucht now and though it's set to be my best playlist yet (mainly because of a deluge of Band of Horses, the smiths and a generally sharper music taste) I haven't bothered to start filling it. there's only so much you can focus on - right now, I'm on a goodreads-revision-equanimity hype and have reached a point where I only feel a faint ache of disappointment and disillusionment when i think about that boy. that boy. What a fucking train wreck of an infatuation, eh.

bye, schadenfreude. I hope to feel some of your sadistic pleasure sometime.

Sehnsucht Play

Mon, 2 Dec '12

since christmas is approaching again I came back to this playlist to revisit last christmas...it's strange how its order and look can bring back memories. Having desolate transports over Band of Horses, Dead Man's Shoes, This is England, the smiths, rushmore (new years). Even watching About a Boy, a categorically useless memory in the same league as Vicky christina barcelona (absolute jarg.) Still, Granada was a beautiful piece of music. Oh god look...Pale Blue Eyes. Adventureland, its accompanying searing associations, and that song made me feel very much for a while. Linger on your pale blue eyes...I listened to it after watching the film and could hardly bear the emotion it caused. few songs have affected me so much. Its lustre faded a little after listening to it to a few more times - it is such a long song - but i still count it among the best songs I've heard.

And, of course, Atonement. That book practically went gene-deep and melded with my personality. Some things, by a trick of time and place, impact you with such force they stay with you permanently. I rather think this is one of those things. Even now, just thinking about it is enough to feel me with that displaced longing, soft and searing. I think at some point it will meld with my memories, too; and my childhood will be tinged with it. Its funny to think that the first time I read it I found it much too complex and obscure for me, in Jerry and Joanna's. it was John Wesseling's copy, that time he stayed in the little boy's room with admirable equanimity. His charisma made me want to read it, but I rememebr thinking it was sort of suffocating. I have no affectionate sympathy for this reaction. I was half-dead in that house. The one thing meant to keep me alive and that I excelled in, that wasn't religious - literature - I miserably neglected, not just out of shortage but out of apathy. I would read Agatha christie's if I found them, as readily as a Wilbur Smith or Jane Austen. Lots of tepid, bucolic period romance. Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South was among the best of these, along with any Bronte out of Zu's giant crumbling brown hardback of the Bronte sisters' best works. I now bitterly wish I'd read some sturdy male classics - Moby Dick, anything. It might've opened my eyes a little more. Who knows what might be different, had my literary input been a little less cultish in those static preteen years.

I mean, James Herriot, for pity's sake!

Christmas has come again. I'd like to say i'm different now, in Memento Mori. I'd like to say a lot of things.

Exposure Play

the reconciliation of death. the miracle of life, the miracle of death. the marvelousness of the dance between the two. the rapidity, the brevity of it all. the smidgens we remember; the gaps which we forget. the afterthoughts, the foresights, the remembrances. the heights by which we are remembered as we pass through the lowest exits mortality drags us through.

- Random Youtuber

6:47 PM, Friday 14 October 2011

I'm writing about the Exposure period with the smudging effect of hindsight, so even though I have a feeling it was extraordinarily poignant and profound, I can't really define how.
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