I have no rich spirituality with which to comfort myself, I need money. It’s the only religion I have.

J letter to S

Monday, 6 November 1995  12:11 PM

God crappy-crappy, fuck-fuck.  Shit mood Sis. Shit mood.  Wanna go home and crawl under my doona.  It’s one of those rainy days that are ripe for video watching and that’s about it.  I hate this job, I just can’t bring myself to look at these pages of proof anymore, it’s a bit of a concern to tell the truth.  I left at 5pm yesterday, in the same frame of mind, stalking out of the building, spoiling for a fight. Can you believe it? Me, J the Wuss, beating the pavement under a heavy brow thinking “Geez I’d love a fight right now.  I’d love to smash someone’s face in.”  Dear me, I don’t think I really have any idea of what an actual fight is like at all, never been in one.  I think I was hankering for one of those stylized Hollywood/Tarrantino blood-fests with me being the glorious victor, wading thigh deep through the carnage.  Laughable really.  I don’t know what to do.  Well, I do know, I need to find another job, but what can I do? No qualifications, no special abilities.  They only put up with me here because I’m cheap.  Shit shit shit.  I don’t want to end up working in a newspaper stand, or pulling beers or cappuccinos, Sis.  I’m spoilt I guess.  Oh well, the book will be finished soon, and hopefully it will sweep away these thoughts with it.  I get like this ever year, you must get sick of reading the same crises year after year, each time couched in the same tones of despair and lack of cognisance of the patters of the past that are naively repeated again and again.  Silly self-indulgent twaddle.  Get here soon Sis, I need a holiday and a distraction from myself and my petty woes!

Jeff Kennett has just sold another one of our power companies to some Texan company. 100% of it, they’ve got it all.  I’m worried about this S.  I’m worried that Australia is going the same way as England.  I’m worried we’re gonna have a big ol’ underclass, a nation where one half takes the he washing of the other.  And it’s people like me who are closest to the divide, unskilled white collar folks.  I really don’t want to be poor, I have no rich spirituality with which to comfort myself, I need money. It’s the only religion I have.

and now for something completely different……

Heard on the telly someone quoting Nietzsche, someone like “Ultimately, one loves one’s desires more than what one desires.”  Whaddya think?  True?  I think it goes some of the way to explaining why love/desire is so disheartening. You see, we confuse desire with the object of desire, and when we obtain the object of our desire, it falls hollow because the desire, the emptiness is still there, right?  You see what I’m getting at?  I kinda think that desire is a sign of the incompleteness of someone’s ego (soul?).  I mean, if you’re self-contained and meet all your own needs, you won’t want anything else, yeah? So we sense a lacking in ourselves, which becomes desire, and we project the qualities needed to fulfill this desire/shortfall in ourselves on to someone or something else and chase it, hoping it will fill the hole. But when we get there and lay our hand on it, we realize that we can’t internalise it, you can’t plant it inside you. Am I making sense here? What do you think? I really felt like kissing someone the other night, but I held myself in check, I stopped myself. I sorta knew it wouldn’t work out, she probably wasn’t how I was seeing her. More importantly though, rejection (a prospect with short odds, no false modesty here) would’ve been awkward.  So I mull it over the weekend through, and come up with this little dissertation on desire to distract myself. A little self-awareness is a confounding  thing.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s