'' I've read Dosteivski today; well, no, actually only the preface of an edition with both White Nights (1848 - I've just read the wiki; I now know that 57′s Visconti's Notti Bianche is an adaption of the novel, it instantly became a must see) and Notes from Underground (1864 - Le sous-sol).
[...still haven't seen Notti Bianche a year and a half later...]
I just had bought a delicate colorful cover french edition in a small second hand book store - wonderful you'd say.
The guy who wrote the intro showed me some signs of my 'dreamer' personality, as an hideous coward hiding in the beauty dreams I have forged for myself, where I master everything like a circus made for my pleasure and from where I glance down the humble people only living in the simple boring reality of common man.
Well, these two stories apparently marked a turn in Dostoevsky life's course and that he admitted to have been such type man - a dreamer - but that he is not anymore; or at least doesn't want to be. [And I also happen to know that he changed at some point in his life and became conservative because he was scared of the darkness he saw in himself - and could only picture other people bearing similar dark depths - and probably thought it was better off if people where kept tamed by conservative values. Or something of the sort.]
And I think I should do the same... [I'll disagree with myself here, the kind of understanding I had at that moment of my life - which was mid-2016 - came from a place of a lot of disinformation and theatricality that led me to dive right back into the pool of depression where I apparently like to bathe once in a while - *ahem* more often then I would like to, actually. The suggestion of the sort of things I had in my mind was to value the group over the individual, not in a commie way, but in a conservative way. Authoritarianism, perhaps? Somehow, as if it was my style. Not. At. All.]
And right now I think of this disdain for the reality of the flesh/grounded man as a really Baudelairesque thing to think - just because I've read something the poet wrote that was going in very similar direction, he actually hated the masses so much he thought that the best that could happen to them would be their eradication [which even at my worst can't agree with + Where the fuck did I read that? I can't find any sources who present this as straight forward 'eradication'; the poem 'Le chien et le flacon' perhaps, is a contemptuous piece that hints at such idea, or maybe it was in the very partially constructed biography that I had bought in the same period of time as Notes from the Underground].
[To be fair, most people realize that dreamland isn't a place where you can stay for too long and just have the good habit of focusing on things that they control but also give them a little challenge. Your inner world 'should' (probably) serve you to make some desire come true, but not always, also.]
To keep on with poetry;
« Je ne prétends pas que la Joie ne puisse pas s'associer à la Beauté, mais je dis que la Joie (en) est un des ornements les plus vulgaires ; – tandis que la Mélancolie en est pour ainsi dire l'illustre compagne, à ce point que je ne conçois guère (mon cerveau serait-il un miroir ensorcelé ?) un type de Beauté où il n'y ait du Malheur ». - Baudelaire.
''I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.''
D'après Léon Blum « nous trouvons (...) au fond du beylisme [d'Henri Beyle connu sous le pseudonyme de Stendhal] ce qui peut-être l'essence de la sensibilité romantique : la persistance vers un but qui, d'avance, est connu comme intangible, l'acharnement vers un idéal, c'est-à-dire vers l'impossible, la dépense consciente de soi-même en pure perte, sans espoir quelconque de récompense ou de retour. Car les âmes assez exigeantes pour aspirer à ce bonheur parfait, ou même surhumain, le sont trop pour accepter en échange les compensations atténuées qui font le lot commun des hommes. La mélancolie romantique est issue de ces thèmes élémentaires : les seuls bonheurs accessibles à l'homme font sa bassesse ; sa noblesse fait sa souffrance ; une fatalité maligne a posé devant lui ce dilemme : la vulgarité innocente qui le ravale à la brute, l'aspiration anxieuse et condamnée qui le hausse vers un ciel inaccessible... »
In English (thanks google translate) : "According to Leon Blum, "we find (...) at the bottom of Beylism [from Henri Beyle aka Stendhal] what may be the essence of romantic sensibility: the persistence towards a goal which, in advance, is known as intangible, the relentlessness towards an ideal, that is to say, towards the impossible, the conscious expenditure of oneself in pure loss, without any hope of reward or return. For souls sufficiently demanding to aspire to this perfect happiness, or even superhuman, are too demanding to accept the attenuated compensations which make up the common lot of men. Romantic melancholy springs from these elementary themes: the only happiness accessible to man make his baseness; his nobility makes his suffering; a malignant fatality has posed this dilemma before him: the innocent vulgarity which reduces him to the brute, the anxious and condemned aspiration which raises him to an inaccessible sky ... "
[Notez, Mael. Janvier 2014. Brummel, Barbey, Baudelaire : dandysme et magnificience tragique. Sur philitt.fr.]
I've been thinking that dreaming in such a way can seriously impact your sanity and make you loose a sense of reality - you cut yourself from the whole human-kind [you little misunderstood unique snowflake bâtard], taking pleasure to immerse yourself into the fetid lodge of solitude.
I also recognized this contemptuous dreamer tendency into the mad king Ludwig II von Bayern when I watched Visconti 1972 movie - it's actually what lit up the spark of understanding in me; I thought I had already foreseen this way in me before this year but had forgot about it all. [I don't think it's the way to use 'foreseen' but mmmk]
It is a derisory power - a vain but infinite liberty - to not act - as it is possible to just watch the scenes of a theater where both the only comedian on stage and the whole crowd are the dreamer.
What was so evident with Ludwig as a movie character was that his dreams literally made him fall into post-romantic madness, hiding behind his impossible love for the Austrian Empress Elisabeth von Osterreich (Sissi), Wagner's music (described as a trader of illusions who would take advantage of the king by Durkheim) and the numerous castles he built but never visited (and how he was interned at the end of his life).
"Perversion comes at the moment where the aesthetics are taking over the ethics." [Well, this is the original thing I wrote back in 2016; I don't know where I got that one but it now seems like I was, if not completely wrong, a little too much into exaggeration. I can't really correct myself thought, as I don't know how to. The prior paragraphs, used as as premises for this one conclusion, seems to be indeed leading me into such thinking.]
The saving thoughts : «L'oubli de soi, l'amour du semblable, condamné à une misère identique.» ["Selflessness, love of the similar, whose sentenced to the same misery"].
[Seriously, the dandy tendencies I noticed in me are not as terrible and not as stable, unchangeable, as one may think. I am a slightly egoist, anarchist and dreamer type of a person but I also like to think that there are things that I care enough about that would eventually drive me out of the immortal blues I am driving myself nuts with. Often feeling like I am standing of a knife-edge ready to fall into madness due to the closeted nature of the dream provoked by the maintenance of the bubbled reality of the 'poète maudit'.]
[ Back in 2013, I wrote a poem that had a romantic vibe (?) but something slightly different also;
Je vous magane, je vous use, je rends fous, je vous fais honte* / Je vous brise aussi facilement / Que le verre qui éclate et apporte démantèlement / Je suis l'inconnu, la bête, l'extatique / Le Mystère / La différence qui vous brûle, vous mange / Et qui vous fait rêver, douter / Changer la voie qui porte vos idées, parfois / Du moins si j'atteins mon but, je crois / Et ce but est un rêve / Grandiose, Colossal, Demesuré, Formidable / Impossible et Inatteignable / En ces mouvement et changements, je place un espoir si naïf / Qu'il doit être feint.
''I use you, I wear you, I drive you crazy, I make you feel ashamed / I break you so easily / I bring a dismantlement as sharp as broken glass / I am the unknown, the beast, the ecstatic / The Mystery / The difference that burns you, that eats you as you are inevitably falling for me / As I makes you dream and doubt / Change the way that carries your ideas sometimes / At least, if I reach my goal / And this goal is a dream / Great, colossal, immesurable / But uncertain, as people like you just might not face me ever / Making this dream impossible and unreachable / Really, I place a hope so naive in these movements and changes / That it must be feigned.'' ]
[This poem basically means 'I am Difference; you're annoyed by me until you understand me; I exist and you will eventually change if you get to know me; the goal of my existence is that you turn around to face me; I am real and you're blind; but I might just be naive enough to think you will get past the dissonance your judgement is clouded by'. = Not as 'romantic' as I remembered, especially the translated version I reworked on. The VF has more of that impossibleness to reach, the words that are use reflect something like a romanticism but the meaning of this poem is not. Plus, the syntax - well.. - the presentation too, is not top notch. I remember enjoying playing with the ambiguity but it may be considered as lacking in structural quality.]
Okay it's past 6 in the morning and I need sleep, I'll see if I'll make something out of this or not, but later. ''
[Let's not forget that, when I wrote the original thing last year, I was fully self-loathing; I had already started listening to a couple of *ahem* alt-centrist / classical liberals on youtube, plus I had went back home living with my father which cut me from the anarchist influences of the friends I had made in the last few years. I had developed a weird sentiment of being inadequate in such circles and had the accompanying feeling that I should be defending the mentality of the people that raised me, ie defend some ideas that were xenophobe, homophobic, transphobic, slut-o-phobe, etc (albeit mostly my mother's side; her husband & her, his son and my own brother); but I mostly opted for such a defensive approach within myself. I was watching these youtube people but didn't went too much out my way to showcase the inner bigotry that had grown back inside me. At last least not by flaunting it in to the people that could've been hurt by it, but I did nod in agreement when bigots were spouting their venomous words in my presence. I feel so ashamed now to realize that I was cultivating such gross thoughts and passive attitude. Erasing my previous 'wokeness' made my relation with my family so easier (hurgh, it's hardly wokeness if it was so easy for me to fall back asleep); as an exemple; during family suppers I stopped showcasing my disagreement with them and they pretty much had a reaction that could be resumed as ''Good girl, you're calm and reasonable now''; which made me feel 'validated' as a person, but not as the person I want to be. To put it briefly, it was the very (un)necessary desire to be accepted by my own family that pushed me to stop reacting as if their words were a threat; not this sort of mentality is not threatening to certain people but that, as a privileged person, it was a little too easy for me to put the sword down and let them, or what I perceived was their views, to be pushed down on me. God, I hate myself for this. How much can I blame my surroundings for tainting me with their toxicity? How much can I blame myself for letting that get at me? I mean, I could've surely done better at resisting the temptation of desiring to be accepted at all cost; but also, there might a little chance that I have even put on myself more pressure to fit a 'perceived standard' of bigotry that wasn't completely required. It's so weird to think that once instant I was watching episodes from RuPaul Drag Race and shouting 'WERK!' at the girls on my screen while the next minute I would be listening to youtubers like Sargon of Akkad, Blaire White, Dave Rubin, Ben Shapiro or hell, I even went on forcing myself to listen to MGTOW content, like Sandman or Turd Flying Monkey. Fuck, I spend way to much time on the youtube... Anyway, a youtube cure for a youtube disease; the list of folks that cured me are : ContraPoints (she really is my favorite right now), Shaun, Lindsay Ellis, hbomberguy and yeah, even Anita Sarkeesian. Seriously watch these guysngals if you want good socio-political content (and mostly take-downs of uninformed centrists and right-wingers, eh like ''me''), not the previous ones. Seriously, thank you if you understand were I come from with my hardly assertive persona and easily bendable thoughts; and if you don't I'll tell you that I agree with you - as much as I can in such circumstances - because I can truly admit having some weaknesses to work on. I feel fucking ashamed but don't pity me, not even one fucking second. The part where I was listening shit on the internet was very much something I was in control of; even if I do think that I might had forgotten, at that time, how to get access to quality content, academic research, serious literature, and wasn't able to let myself get out of the echo chamber created by a petty circle of youtubers.]
Originally posted : May 31, 2016 on carthoune.tumblr.com
All the [...] are to separate things that have been written at different times; most likely what is out of theses crochets are what was written back in 2016.
*This line has been written by Gaston Miron, «La Batêche Séquence», I think? Anyway, not my line.
I will add a little excerpt from Max Stirner, 1844, Der Einzige und sein Eigentum (L'Unique et sa propriété);
« Aussi l'État et Moi sommes-nous ennemis. Le bien de cette « Société humaine » ne me tient pas au coeur, à moi l'égoïste ; je ne me dévoue pas pour elle, je ne fais que l'employer ; mais afin de pouvoir pleinement en user, je la convertis en ma propriété, j'en fais ma créature, c'est-à-dire que je l'anéantis et que j'édifie à sa place l'association des Égoïstes. [...] Être un homme ne signifie pas représenter l'idéal de l'Homme, mais être soi, l'individu. Qu'ai-je à faire de réaliser l'humain en général ? Ma tâche est de me contenter, de me suffire à moi-même. C'est Moi qui suis mon espèce ; je suis sans règle, sans loi, sans modèle, etc. Il se peut que je ne puisse faire de moi que fort peu de chose, mais ce peu est tout, ce peu vaut mieux que ce que pourrait faire de moi une force étrangère, le dressage de la Morale, de la Religion, de la Loi, de l'État, etc. »
''So the state and I are enemies. The good of this "human society" does not hold me in it's heart, me, the egoist; I do not devote myself to it, I only use it; but in order to be able to make full use of it, I convert it into my property, I make it my creature, that is to say, I annihilate it and build in its place the association of the Egoists. [...] To be a man does not mean to represent the ideal of the Man, but to be oneself, the individual. What do I have to do to realize the human in general? My task is to be satisfied, to be sufficient for myself. It is I who am; I am without rule, without law, without model, etc. I may only be able to make very little of myself, but this little is all, this little better than what could make of me by a foreign force, the training of the Morale, the Religion, the Law, State, etc.''
To constrast with the previously held romantic approach...