A fashion model. I would love to be able to be sexual with a fashion model. With a very hot girl. Someone much younger and better looking than I. This would be a wonderful experience. I want this for myself. To be naked with a very attractive fashion model. What could be better? But this is not going to happen for me. How would it happen for me? I don’t go out to places where I could meet a fashion model. I think I am good-looking enough for a fashion model. I think I am well-dressed enough to be with a fashion model. I am certainly intelligent enough. But these things are not good enough for fashion models. A fashion model may not care so much about intelligence although I am sure they would not mind. A fashion model wants a fashion model guy. They want to be with someone who is very fit and very successful. Who has a lot of money, looks good and has all the right accessories. This is not me. I am not interested in making a lot of money. I am not really interested in making money at all to be honest. My only form of exercise is walking and jumping on a rebounder. I am not that concerned with muscle or physical strength. I prefer strength of character and mind. I prefer to be creative, to be intellectually inclined rather than to be out there building wealth and muscle. I am not that guy. I am not that guy who is getting the fashion models. I would not want to be caught dead in the kind of places fashion models are to be met. I do not like luxurious resorts. I abhor Las Vegas. I do not like fine dinning restaurants. I do not hang out in places were the elite congregate. Where would I meet a fashion model? I suppose I could meet a fashion model who has fallen on hard times and has to work as a hooker or stripper. I could pay this unlucky woman to have sex with me. To be naked with me. It is in this way that I would have the greatest opportunity to be sexual with a fashion model. Otherwise, I am not going to meet a fashion model. I am a degenerate, anti-social writer. I am an intellectual who is interested in literature and art. I have very high cultural standards. Guys like me do not get hooked up with fashion models. Unless we become famous. But what are the chances that my novel “Tour Guide For A Rapist” is going to make me a famous man? Who the hell reads degenerate novels anymore? How the hell am I going to get rich and famous from laboring away on a blog like this one? The kind of blog I am creating here does not get read by many people. They have no use for it because it is a blog that does not point people in the direction of lower standard things like money and muscles and video games. I know it may come off like I am pretentious. Maybe I am. I hold myself to a high intellectual standard and men like me who hold themselves to very high intellectual and cultural and artistic standards do not get to be naked with fashion models. They can not even afford to pay an unlucky fashion model who has had to become a whore to have sex with them. Guys like me do not get successful enough in the low standard world of materialism, money and muscle to even be in the same neighborhoods as fashion models. I guess I need to understand that I should take what I can get and be happy about it. But I still feel like it would be nice to be naked with a fashion model, to touch a fashion model and to be sexual with a fashion model who is not just a digital image on Instagram.
Yes, I am judgmental as all hell. My judgement is sharp, very sharp. I cut through crap with my sharp judgement. I thought you knew this about me? I don’t know why it comes as such a surprise that I think most of the things people are interested in is absolute crap. That most of people’s interests makes me violently mad. That I have nothing but bitter contempt towards most things. I thought you knew this about me? Why are you so surprised when it is directed at you? You should know better than to bring such banal and crap-filled interests around me. You should be more careful what you become interested in because you know that if you let yourself give in to all the absolute crap, I will cut you from time to time. I try not to. I really try to accept the way you chose to have fun and entertain yourself. Who am I to talk after all. I am just a sick and tired man, isolated from the outside world by my refined beliefs. Who am I to talk? I have no friends to speak of. I have no one that I would like to share interests with. I don’t do much that I care about. I prefer to stay isolated and comforted from all the absolute crap in the world. I know, who am I to cast judgement on all those who seem to be out there living fun and vibrant lives? What a piece of shit I am. But my bitterness and disdain towards all the crap in the world has been highly developed and refined. I have consciously chosen not to let the crap in. I have chosen to better myself and my sensibilities and rise above and beyond all the mindless, stupid, bullshit crap in the world. I have worked hard to become a refined man of culture. I have developed my aesthetic sensibilities through rigorous self-discipline and a determination to delve deeper than all the crap. To investigate and to learn. To seek things and explore rather than take what is handed me by the crap of culture. Everyone wants to be entertained and have fun. Every one wants to do what everyone else is doing. But I have had to forge my interests and preoccupations in solitude and isolation because the culture I live in is so stupid that it could not offer me the depth and quality that my brain and soul need. But you have given in. You have taken what is easy and common place. But who am I to judge? Just because I have chosen to refine myself beyond the masses, because I have chosen to develop my sensibilities in the same way someone would develop a fine wine or any unique and rare thing. I have chosen not to be a part of the stupidity of what is easily offered to me by the dumbed down masses. Sure it is fun and entertaining. Sure you will laugh a lot but it requires zero refinement to do these things. Should a person not develop beyond childish behavior at some point? Shouldn’t people at some point chose to have fun, laugh and be entertained in ways that do not strip them of their dignity? I disdain those who surrender their dignity because they just want to be entertained and act like stupid dogs. I think we should work harder than that. We should seek out culture like an archeologist seeks out a digging site. We should differentiate ourselves from all the crap because as human beings we can do better than crap. But who am I to judge? I have profoundly deep beliefs. I have a sharp and bitter judgement but I feel like I have earned these things through great suffering and effort. This is why I do not sometimes stop from telling you exactly how I feel. You tell me my interests are pretentious crap but you fail to understand that you call it pretentious because it requires effort to understand. You must really pay attention and focus on the things that I am interested in. They are hard. Crap requires no effort. That is why it is crap. It is easy. But who am I to judge? Really I am a nobody. Completely isolated from the world. I am no one so my opinions and beliefs matter not. I am learning, through necessity, to let go of my refined judgments and beliefs, just so I can live more at ease with the people around me, but it is hard to give up something you have worked so long and hard in solitude to refine.
Dennis Cooper’s blog. I really don’t understand it. How is it that someone is capable of so much productivity? Every single day it seems as if his blog is filled with a deluge of new information on some sort of perverse or artistic thing. It is a continual flow of productivity that my more lugubrious brain is unable to comprehend. How can such prolific output be possible? Is he doing all this work himself? Does he have help? Is he on drugs? How much time does he work on his blog posts per day? And if his blog posts were not enough, he also has this extensive section where he answers all of these people’s comments. Who are these people who comment? They are people who seem very self obsessed to me. Dennis Cooper’s blog is filled with self obsessed people. It is a pantheon of self obsessed people but still it does not make it any less admirable. After all I am a self obsessed person who just abstains from commenting on Dennis Cooper’s blog. But sometimes I want to comment. I want to ask him how he does it. He has had a prolific output for sometime now. Books, essays, films, art projects and now this endless blog? Where does it all end? How does he do it? Is he struck with some sort of psychological condition which causes him to have to have endless productivity? Is there Aspergers in his brain somewhere? How is it possible someone is able to work so much? There must be a psychological condition that enables it, is my thoughts on the matter. I have never been capable of this kind of productivity and it has occurred to me that this is because I am a depressive instead of a person with Aspergers or mania. Dennis Cooper must have Aspergers or mania or both or some chemical construct that allows him to generate so much. On top of his blog posts and interactions with his self obsessed blog readers, he also seems to be traveling here and there. Always on the go. The guy is continually sleep deprived and in a hurry to get somewhere else. Always on the go. Always alive for tomorrow. It seems like an obsessive kind of thing. A nervous condition or an anxiety disorder. An inability to focus his mind and be still. But I am able to focus my mind and be still and what does it do for me? Not as much evidently since Dennis Cooper is much more known than I. And then there is his musical reviews. His books reviews. Where the fuck does he find the time to read all these books and listen in-depth to all this music? I am not a fan of Dennis Cooper’s musical tastes (most of it) but I do enjoy most of his literary recommendations. I am not that interested in the little boy sexual adds Dennis Cooper posts but I do appreciate his counterculturalisms. I visit his blog not so much because I am interested in what appears on it, although sometimes I am happily surprised, but because I am in real disbelief that a human can be capable of so much. I can’t seem to accept that any of it is real.
How long do coughs and congestion last from a cold or flu? To what degree does a person need to protect themselves when in a relationship with a person with bi-polar disorder, especially when this person is unwilling to seek treatment for bi-polar disorder? How often should I exercise? Why do I read so much? Is there a way that I will ever complete the novels that I want to complete writing? How does one start a new life in middle-age? Is it wrong to lack a happy social life? Where does all this coffee I drink go? Why don’t I embrace new artistic practices, such as the decalcomania technique that surrealists often used? Do I really need to be reading a novel as disturbing as J.G Ballard’s “Crash?” How good am I really at self-care? At what point should I buy new converse shoes and throw away the ones I have? Whose right is it to tell me what to do anyways? Where has my interest in style gone? To what degree is boiling water bad for me? Where is it that I expect I will find things I am looking for? Is it healthy to be married to someone who is in a sexual relationship with someone else and often does not think about consequences of certain decisions made while with this person? At what point can we legitimately claim that another person is out of control? Why am I more willing, much more willing, to drive for thirteen hours rather than flying for two? Do magazines really exist which could make me feel better about the life I am living? At what point is my use of sex and sexuality simply an effort to do something interesting in my bored life? Why do I often feel not that different from a potted plant? For what reason do I continue to be friendly and nice to people who obviously harshly judge me? At what point can I trust my intuition about other people’s motivations and feelings? How come I keep avoiding my desk? Why is it that I would rather read than be doing anything else? Is there something wrong in my relationship or in my mind that causes me to often not feel sexual? At what point is too much sex and at what point is too much sex causing life to become chaotic and disorganized? Is the individual the most qualified to have the final word on their own mental state? Where is my ability to escape from things that are not good for me? Is it ok that I eat so much bread? Why can’t I get myself to go to the market more often and keep a regular supply of fruits and vegetables in my house? Why is it that I buy a lot of records but do not listen much to them? Is technology destroying my attention span and mental health? Is this idea of subjecting myself to cold a bad idea? Why am I only able to be aroused by that which is not loving towards me? Will all the art I have made end up in the trash? Should I drink a few beers today or remain free from poisonous alcohol? Is there a good time for anything? Is it healthy that I remain interested in someone because that someone is not interested in me in the same way? Do I try too hard in relationships? Is it wrong to want your wife to be a hooker while still expecting her to be a healthy partner person? Is there any value to be found in art anymore? At what point is my reading of books an addiction, which is having a negative effect on my life. Is it ok that my parents really show little interest in anyone but themselves? How much snow exposure is good for a person? How often should someone be exposed to higher elevations? At what point are spiritually inclined people rolling around in their own bullshit? Am I better off remaining divorced from any specific belief system? Are those who don’t ask questions better off? Is my dog more mentally stable and healthy than I am? Should I be eating more meat and butter and eggs? Is it a poor choice to drink strong coffee in the morning and not eat much till noon? Should I be going for a walk right when I wake up every morning? Am I better off physically and emotionally when not in a relationship? What is it about me that remains in relationship with those who have harmed me in the past? Is my iPhone addiction destroying my life? Is other people’s iPhone addictions causing me to feel alone? Why can’t I motivate myself to go to the farmer’s market and get the food I need? Do I really need to avoid the outside world so much so that I am willing to forgo having the healthy food I need in order to avoid interactions with other people? At what point will I find peace in my life? Is peace possible for me in current conditions? Is it naive to seek peace from life as it is naive to seek stability from a person with untreated borderline personality disorder? Is my brain what is making all of this so difficult or are there other organs involved?
There is a kind of banality to his thinking. I like his essays but there is banality in them. But maybe there is banality in everything. Maybe no artist or writer escapes from some degree of banality. I am sure there is plenty of banality in what I write. But maybe not. Banality is a personality thing. It is a crisis of soul. It is a simplification of personality. Banality is a depth problem. Often times people are not willing or able to go deep enough to surpass banality. Plus banality sells since most people are looking for art or entertainment that reconfirms their own banality. But I am always looking for art, writing, film and other things which lack banality. Richard Prince’s essays, or what I have read of Richard Prince’s essays, have banality in them. Not totally banal. There is interesting things within these essays, and I will keep reading them for this reason, but the personality writing these essays does suffer some degree of banality. I am sure he would admit to this. Most of our personalities succumb to some degree of banality. I resist this. In continual resistance to the banalization of my personality. Maybe I should give in. Maybe life would be easier if I just let go and surrender to banality. But I continually seek out an absence of banality. I seek it out through drugs, through sex and women, through music and through literature. I am often told that I should meet new people but most meetings with people, if not all, are banal. So I prefer to avoid meeting new people. I prefer to limit my interactions with people (unless they are naked, female and very attractive which does not happen often) because people equal the banal. But I am always seeking out people who are not banal. Artistic expression that is absent of the banal. I come across it not often. I spend a lot of money on books and records hoping that I will find the antidote to the banal in them and often I do not. But sometimes I do and these moments are ecstatic for me. I become very happy because I have hope that it is possible to live without becoming banal. That there are people out there who have forged a way of life and a mode of self expression that omits the banal. Few of them are interested in personal development and yoga. These things have banality built in to them. They lack honesty and integrity. I seek out expression that is fresh and free of all conformity and censorship. People whose personality has not yet been marginalized. These moments are why I continually go to book stores and record stores. Every time I go to a book store and record store there is the slight possibility that I will discover something that provides me with moments of hope and ecstasy. Where the world will not be such a banal place and there is the hope of surpassing this human condition. It is a temporary elation because soon after finishing the book and/or record the hope and the ecstasy dissipate. I will then go in search for someone else, some other artist or writer who has yet to succumb to banality. It is a continual effort on my part to ward off banality and each artist or author whom I find who has avoided the banalization of their artistic expression and personality gives me the hope and courage I need to carry on.
What is it with me? Why do I feel so uncomfortable socially? I get around people and I feel like my breath constricts. I become dizzy. I am being sucked into myself and working hard to stay out. I can’t think straight. I can’t talk straight. I say things that I don’t really mean. I say things that surprise me. I feel like everything is moving fast. What is this? Social anxiety? But I should be way beyond social anxiety. I am a successful psychologist. I feel confident with myself. I meditate every morning. But I get around other people and lose myself. I forget about my feet touching the ground. I lose my grip. Why is this? Is it because I do not like people and I am being forced to be friendly with people? Is it because I feel like I can not be myself around other people? Is it because I become confused about who I am when around other people? I don’t understand. When I am alone I am happy to be alone. When I am alone I feel disdain towards other people. I want to be away from all people. I am happy separated from other humans. But is this because I really do not like other people or is it because I am so insecure and confused when around other people that it is much easier being alone? I had a father who crushed my sense of self growing up. He made a habit out of putting me down. I could do nothing right. If I did not do what he thought was right I was condemned and brutalized. Could my current confusion and anxiety around other people be rooted in this? Is my confused sense of a social self a result of growing up in an environment where everything I did was wrong? What does it even mean to be yourself? What is myself anyways? Who am I? I don’t think I have a real sense of this because it is always changing. But I see others around other people. They seem calm and relaxed in themselves. For me it is not like that. Sometimes it is but I often feel unsettled. I feel like I am struggling not to come off as a fool. Is it because I do not want to be talking with these people but I am forcing myself to do it and as a result feel like I am being a fraud? I have a difficult time being disingenuous. I am not good at it. I have been told that I am not fit for human interaction because I can’t fake it. Because I can’t play the social game. But I try. I really do. And maybe this is what makes me feel so uncomfortable around others. This inability to be my curmudgeonly self. My inability to be the introverted, anti-social weirdo that I am when around others. I have to come off like I am a man of positive and responsible standing but this is not really who I am. There is this divide between the person I am and the person I create for you. But we all do this to an extent. Why does in make me so anxious? Why can’t I just be calm and easy when talking with others? Why do I feel this shaking ground in me every time I talk to another? Maybe it is something I will never understand. Maybe I am just socially ill equipped and that is just the way I am.
I strive to become a recluse. It is something I am working on fully achieving. I work at it each day. Being comfortable and even happy alone. It takes work.
Fully achieving becoming a recluse may be different than how you think of it. I don’t want to become the kind of recluse you most likely have embedded in your mind.
I have wanted to be a recluse for most of my life. When I went on a river rafting trip with my father at the age of 14 or 15 I saw a hermit’s shack on the edge of the river. When my father described to me who lived there and what a hermit was, I knew that I wanted to be that when I grew up.
I am an introverted kind of guy. I like social interaction but only for brief periods. I can only handle so much of people. Also, if my social interaction is not deep, if it is more superficial, I am very drained by it. Because most human interaction tends to be more superficial, I prefer to limit the amount I interact with other people.
I would rather listen to records, read, write, make art, meditate- spend my time doing things that feel like they have more depth.
Being a recluse means being comfortable, engaged and satisfied alone. A recluse does not seek out being social. It is nice being social sometimes, but given the choice a recluse would prefer being alone, doing things they like to do on their own. A recluse values an environment where no one is talking so that they can be more focused on their own inner state.
I suppose you can say that the recluse is interested in self-realization rather than social-realization. But in American culture social-realization is what is valued. You should be social. You need to be social. You need to get out and do things. If you don’t you are missing out. This is what we are taught and told from a very young age.
People who are not that social are labeled anti-social. They are made to feel like they are doing something wrong and unhealthy. A person can develop real guilt and shame around wanting to be alone. As a result, when a person is alone they end up feeling lonley.
For the longest time I have struggled with being more introverted and reclusive. I have felt bad about it. I have felt like I am missing out on having fun with other people. I have felt lonely because I am alone. These are all normal things people who prefer to be alone most of the time go through. Admitting that you want to be a recluse, that you prefer your solitude is almost a taboo in America. Something about it feels very un-American even though America has a rich history of recluses and hermits.
Fully embracing being a recluse has been a struggle for me. My daily practice of meditation has certainly helped me to feel more comfortable in my solitude and aloneness. Meditation has allowed me to develop a deep and rich relationship with myself, which is necessary for the recluse to have. For a long time I did not have this deeper relationship with myself. When I was alone I felt lonely.
Lonliness can happen with people or without them. Loneliness is the result of not being comfortable with yourself. It is the result of being dependent on others to make you feel better. It is possible to be alone and never feel lonely. Aloneness without lonliness is called solitude.
And now that I have cultivated being alone, I prefer solitude. I look forward to solitude. I find solitude to be very enriching, calming and want more of it.
I have a wife. I run a business. For ten years I have been working a highly social job where I have to interact at deep and often painful levels with people. I think that because of the exhaustion this caused, I was compelled to seek out more solitude.
To be in the world but not of the world. This is what the recluse lives by. I still want to work with other people. I still want to spend time with my wife and with family and friends. But spending time in solitude has become more of a priority for me. I need it.
Being a recluse means that I spend more time in solitude than I do not. When I am done working or spending time with people, I return back into solitude. It is the return to solitude that is important to me. I do not need solitude all the time. Normally we think of a recluse as someone who has completely withdrawn from the world. Maybe one day, but for now I am comfortable just seeking out more extended periods of solitude between the noise.
As a recluse, I cultivate these moments of solitude like a farmer cultivates crops. I contemplate, meditate, write, listen and engage “my soul” (for lack of a better word) in a deeper way. These moments of solitude generate something very enriching within me that allows me to be more present for people. But like all recluses, there is only so much I can give to other people before I really need to be alone.
Becoming the kind of recluse that I want to be means knowing when I have given enough, when I am done seeking approval, interaction or acknowledgement from other people and then feeling good about withdrawing from the world, back into my own quiet space where I can do the things I like to do most.