October 9, 2009

Posted in Uncategorized at 9:35 pm by Iain

Sometimes, when you have a bit of free time, think back on all the things that you’ve accomplished in your lifetime. Embrace them. Love them. Bask in them if you want to, I won’t judge. Revel in the surety of your velvet existence.

But what about all that other stuff? You know what I’m talking about, all those suppressed memories, lurking on the margins of your subconscious. The rough times, the tough times that made you who you are.

Fleeting glimpses of a blacktop romance.

Macabre half-memories of mysterious parental rage.

Puberty: the beckoning hand of maturity; the pitiless fist of middle school.

Your first love. Your first break-up.

Lonely summer days with no one to turn to. Misanthropic winters with everything to lose.

“Oh man, is that college in the distance? I don’t think I’m rea- …oh.”

And alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

Freud thought that these repressed memories were the driving forces behind your average, no-nonsense subconscious self. This self was destined, by the nature of repression, to act itself out in everyday activity and desire, to “return” in foreign and sometimes drastically altered ways. Anything repressed could become fodder for these carnivalesque displays of unrestraint: sexuality, death, social taboo, even desires for community. Regardless of origin and effort, they would return.

I love the repressed.

I study it in cultural history. I (we) live it every day.¬† But most importantly, when I talk, and I mean really talk to someone, it’s the first thing that gets me to care.

There are so many pointless things that two people can talk about, so many subversive characteristics of modern culture for us to wax nostalgic upon. I really don’t care about those things. I want to know about you. I want to know why you say the things you say, why you do the things you do, why you dress the way you dress. I want to know why you can’t bare your shoulders, why what someone else says means so much to you.

I want to know how you’re doing and want you to know how I’m doing. And I know when you ask me how I’m doing you don’t really want to know how I’m doing, you just want to know that my doing is well. But that isn’t going to stop me from saying more just because your doing is done, because no matter how good your doing is doing, the doing that I’m doing is doing so much more than just good. In fact, my doing is doing so many things into “done” that the things that I’m doing can no longer just do. For you see, my doing to do is recently just done.

Why not stop what you’re doing and ask about¬† mine? Why the rush? Why the awkward sidelong glances to help make your escape? I just want to talk (so I’ll ask you once more) –

How are you doing?