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I’m sicker than I thought

21/06/2015

“In a totally sane society, madness is the only freedom.” – J.G. Ballard

What would I do without The Guardian?

Here’s me thinking I’m doing OK considering my history of bipolar one and Asperger’s syndrome when some journalist pops up to tell me I’m manifesting symptoms of yet another mental illness.

A month ago it was Joshua Glidden informing me that my tendency to listen to Joy Division‘s Unknown Pleasures on repeat is a sign of schizophrenia. Now I learn from the delightfully monikered Mariella Frostrup that my propensity to curl up in a corner with Kafka indicates I’m a sociopath (This from a woman who once worked with Glen Matlock and Iggy Pop! “No fun, my babe, no fun.”). Doubtless even now there’s a Grauniad scribe working up a piece to tell me my enjoyment of Jodorowsky‘s films shows I suffer from borderline personality disorder. I sure hope none of them take it upon themselves to explain what my fondness for the writing of J.G. Ballard says about me.

I thought I was cultured. Turns out I’m just twisted. Maybe I should be on regular doses of Adele, Game of Thrones and Fifty Shades of Grey to keep my neuro-cultural transmitters in balance.

Come to think of it, how come the music industry hasn’t jumped on the neuro-pseudo-science marketing bandwagon yet? At the very least they could commission Susan Greenfield to write that listening to pirated albums will permanently damage your child’s brain.

But nobody takes media driven mind science seriously. Do they?

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From → unclassified

33 Comments
  1. For Fox Sake permalink

    DHHS

    Like

  2. For Fox Sake permalink

    How are you going with that trial thingie? Going to blog about it
    sometime?

    Like

    • After a couple of delays I start on Wednesday.

      I’ll probably only blog on it if something interesting happens. Of course from my perspective ‘something interesting’ will probably be ‘something bad’.

      Mind you, I’m entering it with the right frame of mind. One of my rabbits died suddenly and unexpectedly ten days ago and I followed it up last week with an acrimonious bust up with a valued friend. So if the pills make me depressed I probably won’t even notice.

      Like

  3. For Fox Sake permalink

    Truly sorry to hear about your rabbit and the turbulence
    with your friend. It becomes curious when the old
    fall aways at the threshold of starting something new..

    Vale, beloved giver of kisslings!

    Like

    • Starting something new? You mean the pills?
      Doesn’t seem much compensation for the loss of a beloved pet and a friend.

      Heck the pills are even going to take away my most loyal and long term companions – the billions of them circulating around my bloodstream.

      Like

  4. For Fox Sake permalink

    I did not mention ‘pills’ or ‘compensation’. You did.
    Your mind is framing you.

    Like

    • I was being ironic with the ‘compensation’ crack.

      But if you didn’t mean the pills, what new start are you talking about?

      Like

  5. For Fox Sake permalink

    I think, I could have been referring to when you wrote about
    being offered a place in this treatment and how you examined
    your values, re your worthiness vs that of a higher needs
    person in an impoverished culture.

    I think, that was the ‘new start’. Well, it looks like a new
    start from my perspective but I haven’t walked in your thongs.
    I’m just a little troll living in the Nanny State.

    Irony tends to get lost in translation via this medium…and
    I’m anaemic. Do you think there’s a connection? I

    Like

    • Nah, that’s not a new start. I’ve been finding reasons I’m worthless ever since my parents taught me how.

      Irony tends to get lost in translation via this medium…and
      I’m anaemic. Do you think there’s a connection?

      Hey, I’m anaemic too. There’s a connection.

      Actually I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. I’m not anaemic yet but the doctors promise me the medication will do to my red blood cells what US drones do to Afghan weddings. Apart from the fatigue and breathlessness apparently the erythrocytic slaughter could free enough bilirubin to turn my eyes the colour of piss and my piss the colour of Toohey’s Old (or Hunter Black as we call it around here – probably because it looks and tastes like the Hunter River at Nobby’s). What’s more my ALT and ALP levels are set to go ballistic under the gentle urgings of the pills.

      So it seems that for me the escape route from chronic hepatitis is through something that looks a lot like acute hepatitis. Sounds a bit like homeopathy to me.

      Like

  6. the escape route from chronic hepatitis is through something that looks a lot like acute hepatitis. Sounds a bit like homeopathy to me.

    Goodness gracious me! There’s another connection. I’m a homeopath. Graduated in the 90s from the best antipodean homestudy college in homeopathy.

    I’ve been finding reasons I’m worthless ever since my parents taught me to do it.

    Tell me, chemo sabe, is there an untaught for that?

    Terribly kind and oxygen-thieving people insist that I embark on a cancer journey They don’t believe me when I politely decline, informing them that I still have a few more ports of call to make on the guilt-trip my parents left me. One even suggested that I am a cancer sufferer. I said, Non, non, non, ma cherie… I suffer from poverty and fuckwits. There’s a difference.

    Heavens to Murgatroyd!!

    I shall take the advice of my fifth cousin, nine times removed, Cookie Monster

    today me will live in the moment unless it’s unpleasant;
    in which case, me will eat a cookie

    Like

    • Terribly kind and oxygen-thieving people insist that I embark on a cancer journey

      A cancer journey. How nice of them to appropriate the Native American tradition of a healing journey, run it through a New Age bullshit generator then try to force feed the resultant slurry of shallow aphorisms to non-Americans who already have enough toxic crap in their systems to deal with.

      Still, it could be worse. You could have some Marlo Morgan fan telling you to go on a cancer walkabout.

      trying to remember the HTML for this doohickey

      http://www.w3schools.com/tags/tag_blockquote.asp

      Like

      • For Fox Sake permalink

        Close, but no cigar. The controlling metaphor of cancer is still
        ‘battle’ and that is the language that is still being used – cancer
        fighter. Very Steve McQueen (he started the trend for going
        to Mexico for faith healers and cheaper drugs)

        Employing the weasel-word of journey simply lends a passive
        warm non-threatening illusion that a more enlightened wholistic
        mind-body-soul paradigm is facilitating the rigours of treatment.

        Know your whitefella history? Crusades. All that spam-a-lot in
        a can riding off into the broling middle east to take back the Holy Land
        and catch exotic forms of the yeuk.

        For the last month, I’ve been quietly observing the status quo in a
        influential forum specific to CRC. On a bluebird day, the kingdom of
        sheeple mildly scares the bejebus, jerusalem and jam out of me. On
        a raven day……..there’s all those shites in whining armour!

        Ta for the link.

        Like

        • So have you asked which battle is meant to be going on in your bowels?
          Cannae? Waterloo? The Somme?
          Surely they can find out with a stethoscope.
          If you start shitting snow and burning panzers it’s probably Stalingrad.

          I hope you’ve pointed out that using chemicals and radiation contravenes the Geneva Convention.

          And why didn’t McQueen just jump on a Triumph TR6 and escape his cancer?

          Like

  7. the escape route from chronic hepatitis is through something that looks a lot like acute hepatitis. Sounds a bit like homeopathy to me.

    Hmm…..trying to remember the HTML for this doohickey.

    Like

  8. For Fox Sake permalink

    And why didn’t McQueen just jump on a Triumph TR6 and escape his cancer?

    Correct me if’n I’m wrong, but I think one might need a BSA Gold Star DBD34 for that.

    So have you asked which battle is meant to be going on in your bowels?

    Well, being a contrarian, I’m not likely to have such an important decision made for me by a pack of onco-flying monkeys. Taking a leaf from an ancestor, my strategy is that of the Upper Clyde
    Shipbuilders union; no hooliganism, no vandalism and no bevvying

    I hope you’ve pointed out that using chemicals and radiation contravenes the Geneva Convention

    That and my Star Trek communicator badge will get me in hot heavy water.

    I think I will jump the shark to Tasmania. I hear there have been sightings of
    bunyips.

    Like

    • Correct me if’n I’m wrong

      You’re wrong.

      My dad was an old Triumph Bodgie who never tired of asking what a classic 1950s British bike was doing in Germany in 1944.

      It’d take more than bunyips to get me to Tasmania in winter.

      Like

      • For Fox Sake permalink

        My dad was an old Triumph Bodgie who never tired of asking what a classic 1950s British bike was doing in Germany in 1944.

        And my old man was an RAF LAC into BSAs who sez Triumphs are useless for escaping
        cancer.

        Like

  9. For Fox Sake permalink

    Reject the values and false morality that underlie these attitudes. A rat race is for rats. We’re not rats. We’re human beings. Reject the insidious pressures in society that would blunt your critical faculties to all that is happening around you, that would caution silence in the face of injustice lest you jeopardise your chances of promotion and self-advancement. This is how it starts and before you know where you are, you’re a fully paid-up member of the rat-pack. The price is too high. It entails the loss of your dignity and human spirit. Or as Christ put it, “What doth it profit a man if he gain the whole world and suffer the loss of his soul?” ~ Jimmy Reid (1932-2010)

    A fine examplar of a sun-in-cancer Lowlands male. Must check out his natal chart – that will
    keep me amused and out of your comment box for a day or two.

    Like

    • So that’s your rellie is it?
      I think I once said something like that. Only longer. I had to fill out a blogpost with something.

      Must check out his natal chart

      So you’ve got his time and place of birth then?
      Or do you mean you’re going to read his horoscope?

      Like

      • For Fox Sake permalink

        So you’ve got his time and place of birth then?

        Got his place of birth (Govan, Glasgow). Don’t need the time of birth
        as I use a classic method that is not bound to the Bull Shit Astrology of
        the 20th century.

        For dudes who impact on the identity of a group, the cook-book methodologies
        are too small.

        Jimmy Reid is an Ancestor….I didnae say he was my relative. The de’il is
        in the details you know.

        It’d take more than bunyips to get me to Tasmania in winter.

        OK then….how many chickens do you want?.

        Like

  10. For Fox Sake permalink

    pssst….you read Zapffe’s essay The Last Messiah? Kinda up your
    mountain pass…

    At the close of his last major writing, Zapffe answers all who despair of this view. ‘Unfortunately,’ rues the playful pessimist, ‘I cannot help you. All I have for facing death myself, is a foolish smile.’

    Why don’t we hear more about these crazy Scandinavians? Why is it always about
    the ‘effing Greeks!

    Like

    • The Last Messiah, eh? I’d always wondered what that Hawkwind track was about.

      Yeah, Zapffe must have been a great thinker alright. He agrees with me. As I’ve blogged previously (here and here) I’m with Russell Morris when it comes to meaning. I’m also on board with Zapffe’s antinatalism.

      I’m currently reading Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood and the Prison of Belief by Lawrence Wright, so right now I’m kinda attuned to how pathological the need for meaning can be.

      I think he over-eggs his defence mechanisms as remedies to hypertrophied consciousness though. Seems to me that there are pragmatic socio-cultural reasons for much of what he describes that have little to do with consciousness or the mirage of meaning. In fact I think most of them are better understood as self-reinforcing cultural memes than as something intrinsic to the human condition.

      As to why we pay more attention to Greek (, British, German, American and French) philosophers than to Scandinavian ones – who the fuck can read Norwegian?

      Like

      • For Fox Sake permalink

        who the fuck can read Norwegian?

        I’ll take a wilde guess at that for $10,000, Eddie. Norwegians.

        Reminds me of the line from the remake of The Thomas Crown Affair
        when Catherine Banning asks to interrogate one of the art thiefs (who was
        set up to be noise over there, while the theft when down over yonder).

        God, who would ever bother with Romanian!

        Hmm…seems like I’ve six degrees of separation circled back to Steve
        McQueen.

        I’m browsing through Hand to Mouth: The Truth About Being Poor in a
        Wealthy World
        by Linda Tirado, which belabours the trope of working
        at Walmart and other minimum-wage employment as undesirable for any
        person with like 4-H dreams of rolling in clover.

        During the rise of Nazism in the 1930s, many Polish intellectuals were saved because
        they agreed to be feeders of lice for a virology institute, which created
        the vaccine for typhus, removing one natural process that culled human over-populations.
        The Meaning of Lice, eh?

        Like

        • I’m not antinatal just because of overpopulation you know. Even setting aside the wisdom of Philip Larkin I’ve always been mystified as to why people insist on inflicting simulacra of their own fucked existences upon yet another generation. Then claim to love the little souls they’ve damned.

          Like

    • Judging from the tatts around here there must be a lot of people in a lot of pain hereabouts.

      About the only boom industry in Newcastle is tattoo removal.

      Like

  11. For Fox Sake permalink

    I’ve always been mystified as to why people insist on inflicting simulacra of their own fucked existences upon yet another generation. Then claim to love the little souls they’ve damned.

    If you’re a Golem and you know it, clap your hands!

    Like

  12. For Fox Sake permalink

    I think I meant the golem of Jewish myth that is made from goop;
    the simulacra. Or maybe I meant to say the gingerbread man.
    I dunno. I think I’m trapped in your comments box! I’ll try and
    get the letters HELP to welt up on my abdomen and
    while I’m trying to do that, do you have any socks that need
    darning?

    Like

    • Yeah, the golem is traditionally a humanoid made of stone or clay animated with kabbalist magic that performs manual jobs for its master. Its instructions are contained on a scroll that’s placed inside its mouth or hollow head.

      All my socks need darning.

      Like

      • For Fox Sake permalink

        All my socks need darning.

        Darn, I can’t make sock bunnies out of holey socks.

        My latest find on the innanet:~

        We will waste our lives seducing our despair.

        Like

  13. Darn, I can’t make sock bunnies out of holey socks.

    So stick a carrot in the hole.

    And I sure don’t waste my time seducing my despair. I know my love for it is completely unrequited.

    Like

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