Tuesday, April 2

My Attitude Towards Certain Things (Inconsequential)

THE FAMILY CAME over and I hid. It was too much for me until I’d had something to drink. I drank for the rest of the day, until I felt sick, then I kept on drinking. Someone spotted a drawing of mine on the wall; a gift to my mother two years ago. They began to praise it and my uncle asked me questions about it.
‘Why do you do it?’
‘I don't know. I like the act. I like doing it but I don't care for the result. Once it's done, it's done. I can discard it then and start again. The end result has almost nothing for me. It's all journey.’
‘It's brilliant. You're really good.’
‘Hmm. Thanks, but I don't think so.’
‘What's the matter? Don't you like compliments?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Why not?’
‘I find compliments worthless. They can only affect you in a negative way.’
‘That's a terrible outlook!’
‘No, it's not.’
‘Why not?’
‘It's best to ignore compliments otherwise you'll pay too much attention to them and you'll start thinking 'O, they liked that last one I did so why don't I make something similar to that?' And instead of doing what you want to do, you're doing something someone else wants you to do.
‘But don't you like compliments at all?’
‘No! I mean, that’s unfair, some are good, you know, I’ll think “Wow, that person knows what they’re talking about”. But generally, no.’
‘But why not?!’
‘Because the vast majority of people are fucking idiots and don't have a clue what they're talking about. Their words don't mean shit to me.’
‘That's very strange.’
‘Maybe.’
‘But it's nice when people appreciate what you've done…?’
‘I hate to tire the metaphor out but writing - drawing, whatever - is like taking a shit to me. I get all this stuff in from the world and I have to get rid of it, so I take a shit. It's uncomfortable walking around when you're dying for a shit. And it feels so good to take the shit but that shit but after that, it’s done. I'd rather not call everyone around to sniff it. I just flush it away. It's out of me and I feel good. I can move on and I’ll probably need to do a shit the next night, too.’
‘That's very strange. You're very strange.’
‘I don't think so. Maybe. I dunno. People are so fucking smug and proud about their art or whatever it is they do. I find that attitude repulsive.’
‘But doesn’t it make you happy?’
My parents in unison – ‘Nothing makes him happy.’
I thought of H—n – ‘Some things make me happy. But no, I wouldn’t say I’ve been happy since I was about ten.’
‘Jesus, do you not feel any sort of emotion?’
‘Not really. Ninety-nine percent of the time I’m underwhelmed by everything I see around me.’

[This was just a little a moment in my Easter Sunday I wanted to get down because I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I realise that maybe this comes across as hypocritical, being as you’re reading it on here and there’s things to be said for that but two things, 1) I’ve always believed that if someone somewhere can gain something from something I do, then that’s a really good thing, and 2) you have no idea how much of my writing and artwork I throw away or delete without anyone seeing it. But, yeah, take care.]

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