I recently discovered Daniel Johnston, and in case you haven’t heard of him before either, I thought I’d share this song. Daniel Johnston is a manic depressive, maybe that’s why I felt so taken aback when I first listened to his music.

This song in particular is most likely relatable to everyone on some level, since everyone probably deals with existential boredom at some point. Maybe that’s what it means to reach adulthood; realizing that life is often boring and youthfulness is ephemeral.

Manic depressives might find themselves exceptionally resonating with this song because it almost seems impossible to ever accept those aspects of life. Must I bored all the time? Can’t I be high all the time?

Boredom is homeostasis. Boredom is the fine line between frenetic chaos and catatonic chaos. To be bored is to be on the cusp of complacency. Maybe it’s only true for me (although I doubt it is), but boredom and complacency are insufferable. I find myself scheming for an exit strategy. Cocaine? Sex? Another runaway trip? Except, adulthood shows a person that there is truly no escape. I am rendered helpless in my suffering, and am too aware of the futility of my own escapism to try anything at all. Mania is intoxicating. It gives zest to my life. It brings me thrill. Euphoria. Bliss. Desire. Ecstasy. I want it always, but I know better than to try pinning the tail on the donkey, because the donkey has kicked me in the face more than once. At the end of manic happy trails therein lies a tomb of anxiety and psychosis. At the end of that, a catastrophic mess to clean up.

Daniel sings “Maybe if we were in the movies we wouldn’t be so bored” towards the end of the song, and I think that we all just want to live in a movie. Movies are evocative, otherwise we wouldn’t watch them. But we are not in the movies, and sometimes life is bland.

In another song called “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Your Grievances,” Daniel sings, “Do yourself a favor and be your own savior.” He is a creative 52-year-old manic depressive that’s still alive, and let’s be honest; that’s an impressive feat considering 25-50% of manic depressives have or will attempt suicide. He is inspirational to me, as he has learned how to manage his own illness and wrote a plethora of music so people like me could relate to it and find solace.

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Writing

On Collecting Hobbies and the Profession of Loafing

I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately. You know, laying on my couch, listening to David Bowie and trying to evade reality. I haven’t actually written anything in a long time, since I’ve been so busy with all that soul searching. Let me just get to the point.

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I can’t make up my mind about anything. For the first time in my life, I have seen my own potential and been given opportunities that could make my life better. I respond to this by hiding away in my apartment and eating cookies. Why is life so hard? I think it’s the commitment that’s so frightening. The commitment to being competent, timely, studious, consistent. You (dear readers) have seen this erratic behavior on my blog; that’s me. I am only consistent at being inconsistent.

 It comes down to this: I am a professional loafer. And I’m damn good at it. I have plenty of hobbies, I’m never in bed before 3:00 AM, and I am almost completely unmotivated by money. I don’t enjoy being poor, but the prospect of agreeing to do a job for pay is terrifying. Is this nuts? I mean, have I completely lost it? I always knew this day would come, but I just didn’t think it would be so soon. *Shakes head in shame and sadness.*

I’ve come to realize this: am the real life Penelope Stamp (See The Brothers Bloom), except poor. In the movie, Penelope Stamp is an isolated woman that collects hobbies. Doesn’t that sound like fun? 

On a side note,

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Who needs a plate when you have a pan? This is tuna helper, peas added for flavor. Basically a cry for help.

Ciao.

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Tanked.

Cover of 1915 edition of J.M. Barrie's novel, first published in 1911.

Cover of 1915 edition of J.M. Barrie’s novel, first published in 1911.

I tanked when I awoke
from the dream I was having
in which I was capable
of having a dream.
Down.
Underwater I went,
in my submarine to hide away
from the reality of being
not dreaming.
So far below sea level
that I cracked.
I was crushed by the pressure
of all that weight above me,
and the darkness of the
deep void of adulthood.

Poetry, Writing

Puer Aeternus in the 21st Century

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