i find this mentioned success found and expressed in the parameters of life,
nothing more than a philistine’s interpretation
of why la traviata resonates more profoundly than madam butterfly
when a girl does not use rhetoric to see the latter opera
but bows to the former in a sort of cognitive neglige,
so why do i find this mention of existential “success” so unprivileged
as to require a deviation from it and complete the individual?
think of the existential “success” as nothing more than:
a zoological phenomenon, the one chance to zoo-keep the dodo not executed,
most people will live in this safeguard,
they will forever remain the one example of continuity undisputed,
they will be safeguarded by the fact that countless examples have & will follow
them, and they will be petrified into ranks in a soldierly fashion
without moaning, for they are indeed the ones who reaped
the safeguard in the first place, the continuity must persist,
individuation must known nothing of what individuation is -
that process of self-depreciation as a worth in the worth of isolation -
they do exist in this safeguard not for any amusing qualities,
it’s the quantity of the escapade that’s amusing, amusement
based upon its success!
there's mr. and mrs. with 2.4 children,
and there's mr. barney and mrs. barney née barnacle
with an only child and a ticket to jerusalem.
so i digress now on the whim - if i were a sufferer of a medical condition,
a psychiatric one at that... would i have great or no insight?
i find it hard to concentrate on the theoretical side of things
without giving a chemical idle wave of the hand giving full
trust to the chemical cure... rather than a theoretical cure...
if i were truly a sufferer of a condition... would i theorise?
i guess i’d button up do my trouser zip up and take the chemical answer
as the “cure,” instead i decided to “cure” myself theorising,
which can’t make me a sufferer for all reasons stated by
an abstinence from the hippocratic trust... which isn’t really there...
hence the need to translate all this as: a hippopotamus oath,
the nearest noun next to dinosaurs... hip oh oh...
for why would anyone being a sufferer of a diagnosed condition
suddenly decide to theorise the symptom as a cure
rather than accept the cures given?
no sufferer of a condition accepts theory as a cure...
most just take the force-fed mechanisation of excessive use of
chemistry as if it was a choice of a beauty product...
yellows olanzapine and blues some other anti psi psi...
in summary... if i truly suffered i’d suffer without theoretical escapades, i'd take the cure and not bother theorising:
but since i don’t suffer from a false diagnosis i theorise...
sober enough to do so... even though drunk enough to enjoy the silence
and the holy lack of conversation...
i guess in depth, the migrant's ambition in me to be content with
arbeit macht frei... translated from doing construction work
with my father, or my specialisation in chemistry into
industrious writing patterns... a poem a day... let's
you throw an apple at a psychiatrist every other day.
