ser-yolomere-of-swagalore

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race myself, bitch.

James Joyce -- Ulysses (with some much needed editing)

I haven’t written here in a long time. In fact, after this post, I don’t really see myself writing here every again-- and no, before any of you (if there is, in fact, any one who will see this) jump to conclusions, this isn’t some kind of weird suicide note, or plea for help. What this is, is a sort of manifesto, or a summation, of everything that I’ve felt, and am feeling at the moment, and in a way, hopefully, purging myself of these feelings forever. It’s a goodbye, but also a new opportunity. A creation, as well as a destruction. A final litany of things that I have to say, or wanted to say, and a final exorcism of numerous antagonistic little ghosts that have been rattling around in my head for God knows how long. 

I’ve always been struck by the concept of a sort of Joycean paralysis. Maybe because it’s true-- that Irish people are, in a weird way, struck with a sort of deep, abiding, spiritual malaise, a psychological and emotional paralysis, as a sort of weird, post-colonial hangover-- or maybe because it simply hits too close to home. The narrative of a sort of genealogical, archaeological torpor is one that is all too easy to believe, because it is something that I have experienced quiet viscerally throughout my entire life, but also in a way that is difficult to articulate. The sense that you’re fundamentally at odds with the world around you because of some fundamental, spiritual displacement resulting from years (centuries?) of imperialistic and religious abuse isn’t something that goes well over dinner, after all-- especially when dinner is a hurriedly bought Burger King and the sound of mopeds careening up and down the Cardiffsbridge Road muffles the sound of Coronation Street on the television. 

But it’s a feeling that has stuck with me so long. Longer than I can really remember. This sense of being held back. By myself, by the world around me, by the people around me. Dreams of leaving, of emigrating, have been a consistent fantasy of mine. Occasional spurts of creative writing have always been characterized by the theme of a departure, whether through the realm of some childish Tolkien-esque fantasy or through a plane ticket that randomly fell into the protagonist’s (read: my) lap. That feeling of momentary, ontological vertigo, when the plane leaves the ground and you can feel yourself lifted in that miniature pocket of zero-gravity, is a sensation that I’ve craved and chased (either literally, or figuratively) whenever possible, with varying degrees of success. I even had, at one point, a bit of a miniature breakdown (you know those ones, where they creep up on you, where you have this vague sense that at any minute things are just going to collapse all around you, and nothing will ever be the same) and I started doing some pretty illegal things to get money (fill in the blanks there however you wish) in order to essentially run away, get a plane ticket to somewhere, and just start afresh. But that did crash down, either way-- I started having some viscerally severe panic attacks; I felt like I was going to be trapped here, forever, that I was going to die here, that all the dreams and aspirations I had of doing something worth while were just gonna be swallowed up the dull, plot-less relentlessness with which life here seemed to drive itself--arguably into the ground. I attended counselling, got a professional, objective perspective, and was able to get to grips with things. The anxiety stopped. The borderline insane drive to escape was lulled, and while the gnawing sense of there being a sort of hole, at the center of everything, dissipated, it didn’t quite disappear. I was, once again, able to manage, and plod right along. 

Over time, I’ve come to terms with the fact that my sense of malaise is not, in fact, the result of some kind of literarily prescribed sense of paralysis-- or, at least, not entirely. It is the result of years, perhaps arguably even decades, of mistreatment. By a family and a home that is so deeply dysfunctional that it is, legitimately, tragic. By an early upbringing so neglected and isolated that, to look back and take an earnest look, is genuinely pathetic. By a mindset and by people who see who I am and see something to laugh at. I’ve slowly come to terms with the fact that my family have never quite seen me seriously, as someone incompetent, flowery, soft, and not worth paying attention to. Years, again, potentially decades of subtle gaslighting, invalidation, negation, criticism, patronizing, condescension-- all compounded by shitty, so-called friends, who were all too happy to take advantage of my desire to please and turn it around on me-- had resulted in a person who had so much self-doubt, such a negative self-image, such a horrible sense of failure that, to further disappoint, would result in self-harm. Decades of having my life dictated to me, taking up responsibility and accepting the burden of my family’s terrible choices, of having my potential and my opportunities circumscribes by what seems to be the endlessly unfolding soap opera of my extended family’s self-inflicted pain.  And the worst part is that I simply thought all of this was normal. The concept of Joycean paralysis was able to help me understand, in a vague sense, what was really wrong, but only hindered me in truly understanding its origin.

I worry that if I go on like this I’ll only end up sounding like some kind of serially self-pitying asshole, one of those people that advertises their personal trauma and tragedy as a means to win the Sadsack Olympics, or obtain sympathy, or blame their lack of success and fulfillment on their past. But in the end, that isn’t what this is about. That isn’t the reason why I’m writing this post. In fact, the reason why I am writing this is far more joyous, written with a deep smile spreading across my face. I’ve spent my entire life orientating around myself around other people, of pleasing other people, and I’ve gotten very, very good at figuring out what is that people want, and giving it to them. What I’ve learned, an what I’ve finally gotten the balls to do, is do what I want. I’ve learned to say no. I’ve learned to pursue what I want, to accrue self-confidence, self-love, self-esteem. I’ve learned to deny people, to put myself first, and tell people who need to be told what for. I’ve learned that to be “good” is to give in, to do as I’ve told and take it all on the chin, and I’ve learned that to be “bad” is to pursue what I want, and to rebel. And, fundamentally, I’ve learned that when I am good, I am very, very good, but when I am bad I am FUCKING FIERCE. 

So I am leaving. In fact, I’ve been planning on leaving for quite some time now. Since March, roughly. I am moving to the U.K, getting away from this place, to spend time with people who I have chosen to spend my time with, that I have build up relationships purely of my own choosing and initiative, and whom I trust. To build a life that I choose to build, for myself, and shirking off as much of the trauma, pain, insecurities and self-doubt as I can. Psychiatrist Harry Stack Sullivan believed that the core motivating force in all human behavior was anxiety, and not just anxiety, but the creative and ornate ways we go about avoiding or managing it. According to him, a personality was simply a collection of habits and strategies people gathered over time to “avoid or minimize anxiety, ward off disapproval, and maintain self-esteem.” What I’ve learned, personally, is the sheer liberating power of identifying and deconstructing the aspects of my own psychology that are life-limiting, and taking great joy in completely and utterly destroying the ones that are build up anxious defense mechanisms. I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t scary, because when these mechanisms fall I’ll be thrust, head first, into facing the things I am most deeply afraid of—social rejection and abandonment, unworthiness and failure, unlovability and isolation, to name a few. But it is liberating because I’ve come to realize that, yes, our defenses serve a function, but no, we don’t actually need all of them to survive-- and then, suddenly, an entirely new life is possible. I’ve come to realize that I actually CAN tolerate anxiety; I CAN live with not being liked, I CAN be misunderstood, I CAN make mistakes, I CAN feel bad. And let me tell you, it is a relief. God is sometimes understood as a creator, but he can also be understood as a destroy-- And I am choosing to be the God of my own goddamn life, and taking great pleasure in destroying that which I don’t like.

I’ve ended up prescribing some great, symbolic significance to the act of me leaving. It is me righteously striking back at all the things that had made me hate myself in the past, because they couldn’t simply tolerate hating themselves and needed to destroy me in order to feel better. And so, to them, I say: 

Fuck my family, who have done nothing to actually foster and cultivate who I am as a human being

Fuck the people who have turned my own kindness against me and made me doubt myself

Fuck the people who have made me feel as though my command of words is a weakness-- I am a fucking fantastic writer, and I dare any of those people to challenge me, because I’ll write them into the fucking ground. 

Fuck the people who made me doubt my intelligence; I am more than smart enough to figure things out for myself and smart enough, at least now, to see them for the self-hating, jealous troglodytes they are.

Fuck this place that has made me feel that who I am is wrong, and lesser, and subordinate-- I am worthy, and powerful, and capable.

Fuck this country, and its backwards, stagnant, repressive culture

FUCK

YOU

And that’s it. There’s my gigantic, theatrical display of radical self-acceptance. In a way, what I want to do is leave, and never come back. To delete all my social media, and start afresh. But I know that’s not realistic. I know I have to tether myself to “home”, as much as I disagree with the idea this place is truly home. I will say this, however-- there are parts of my experience here, and my life thus far, that have been wonderful. I’ve got a handful of genuinely fantastic friends, and I’ve forged some very important memories with them. To burn those bridges would be unforgivable, and I would never be able to do that to them. 

It’s 2:16am. I was already exhausted but I had to write this and get it all off my chest. But this is it-- me signing off, forever. Let this be a testament to everything I want to be, an will be, from here on out. 

-Ian.

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

I hate when u say “deja vu” out loud n someone ur with goes “what was it?” Like bitch we all can barely communicate the most straightforward ideas without utter confusion and chaos…..u rly believe it is within my capacity to explain exactly what fleeting moment of temporal embodiment made me feel like a vague reincarnated ghost girl trapped in a child’s dream??? Surely u are mistaken.

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

hamlet’s dad: son you need to avenge me

hamlet: oh ABSOLUTELY

hamlet for the next four and a half acts:

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

whatever *drinks red wine* *lies in the middle of road*

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

If nobody pays for it, no one gets paid for it and who can afford to go unpaid but the rich? An unpaid internship is not an opportunity, it’s a risk, a risk for those without a bedroom in a family home where they can stay rent-free whilst you bleed them to the bone I’m sorry this job is only available to those who can afford to go a month without income Can’t you see? Can’t you see? When you open the gates to your massive company do you want a CV? or would the deeds to a trust fund prove more necessary? You may only have this work experience if you can afford to work for free Can’t you see? Can’t you see? How this prevents the poor from opportunities? Your reputation is not currency! Do you know how it feels when the door is shut? When there’s no feasible way at all of moving up? When every job requires experience and that always is given to someone well off Without a dime, how cruel it is to have dreams When they’ve sewn up every possibility

This band opened up for La Dispute last night and not only are really good but their band name is also a reference to His Dark Materials. Beside that however last night was legitimately excellent, I think my vocal chords are actually somewhat damaged and I was able to scream CAN I STILL GET INTO HEAVEN IF I KILL MYSELF into the mic so yeah, top notch 

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

I cannot get over this. Not only was I only thinking the other day what it was like to revisit music that you’ve been listening to for a long time, but Somewhere at the Bottom has been a cornerstone of musical taste for the whole ten years that it’s been out there, and an emotional touchstone for me for that whole decade. To think that it’s being remastered and released again is just... woah. I’m incredulous. 

“A little over ten years ago, we were in our late teens/early twenties, working day jobs or going to school, and we began working on what was for most of us the first full length record that we had ever written. We would come together after class or after work, and play together to write in Jordan and Brad’s family’s hardware store warehouse, our practice space at the time. When we had time, or when we had a new batch of songs ready, we would go into the studio— the carpeted basement of our friends house down the street— and work on getting these songs down. On the weekends we would go out and play shows in small towns all over Michigan. Places like Muskegon, Fruitport, Grand Haven… in fact, our schedule looked something like this:

Sep 14, 2007 - Ann Arbor, MI @ U of M Metal Frat

Sep 15, 2007 - Grand Rapids, MI @ the DAAC (**PIZZA PLANET PARTY**) w/ Paucity, and Native

Sep 21, 2007 - Ravenna, MI @ The 180 Room w/ Moorland and Brothers!

Sep 22, 2007 - Evart, MI @ Spring Hill Music Fest w/ The Skies Revolt

Sep 28, 2007 - Muskegon, MI @ Res Life Muskegon

Sep 29, 2007 - Ravenna, MI @ Mitten Fest 2007 w/ Nineveh

Sep 30, 2007 - Kalamazoo, MI @ Kraftbrau w/ Jena Berlin and Wow! Laserbeams.

Oct 5, 2007 - Fruitport, MI @ Fruitport Library Basement

Oct 6, 2007 - Kalkaska, MI @ The Kalkaska Civic Center (MCPW AfterMath ) – (in a wrestling ring!)

Oct 11, 2007 - Muskegon, MI @ The Blue Note w/ If He Dies He Dies & Coal Black Horse

While we’re going down this road, we might as well dive fully into the nostalgia, right? Well, the result of all this (the writing, the playing, the recording) was that we finished an album that we were immensely proud of— an album that captured all of our lofty ideas, filled with cryptic numeric coding and gang vocals, high gain amplifiers, pots and pans, and wind chimes— an album we had a whole lot of fun making. When it was done, it looked something like this:

I don’t think that any of us could have imagined the journey that was set in motion when these pieces were being put together. Connections being made across the country, where we traveled to further places, eventually quitting our jobs and dropping out of school to make it work. Meeting Chris from No Sleep Records in California who agreed to put the record out, even after seeing us play to two people (we convinced those two people to come off the street from Starbucks to see us play). We were met with so much encouragement and enthusiasm, and it kept us pushing forward. This past year, we were able to take another look at this record, and in the spirit that it was originally created, to try to make it the best we could with the resources we now have available to us. We wanted to preserve the moment in time that this record encapsulated for us, but we also wanted to apply some of the things we’ve learned over the last ten or so years, to make it sound like we would want it to now. We began earlier this year by dissecting all of the guitar and bass tracks and running the original audio through new combinations of pedals, amps, speakers, mics, and preamps with Will Yip at Studio 4. This made it possible to take the original performances (no new performances were recorded), and to give them life and dimension in a real live room. We then took this new batch of recordings to be mixed by Dave Schiffman, who we were thrilled to be working with for the first time. Finally, we had the final touches and sequencing finished up by Emily Lazar at the Lodge who created the final masters. New artwork was created by Corey Purvis. I can’t say enough good things about each one of these people, and feel honored that we could make this happen together.

It was a humbling experience diving into the record again, stumbling upon all of those little decisions we made and would probably never make again. Pieces that have stuck with us or things we may have left behind. We’re grateful to all of you who have stuck with us through all these years. Without your support and encouragement it would be a long, lonely road. This email is a celebration, not a sales pitch so if you’d like to know where to buy or listen head to one of our socials, the full record will be released on November 9th. Stay tuned for more! (soon, very soon). 

-La Dispute 

#i'm literally this close to sobbing in just... bewilideredness?? #This is such a surreal moment #i'm literally in disbelief #la dispute are absolute UNITS #and i'm so grateful they exist

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

Cynicism isn’t wisdom, it’s a lazy way to say that you’ve been burned. // Nana Grizol

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

It’s always interesting coming back to music that you used to listen to years ago. I don’t know if it’s the same with everyone but I tend to go through phases of listening to particular albums or artists for extended periods of time and then having them fall out of favor for whatever reason and not listening to them for ages. Whenever I do go onto these random trips into the past (or whenever a particular song just happens to pop up onto my Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify, or something), the second it starts it brings me right back the same headspace I was in when I was listening to it. 

The Suburbs by Arcade Fire is one of them, and it kind of just blindsided me the other day. The Suburbs is this really nostalgic, melancholic album about growing up, and about hometowns and moving on and losing friends, and a lot of the themes in it were particularly relevant to me some time ago. I had lost at the time what I thought was a really close friend (and, through him, a bunch of other friends) as well as a place where I had felt like I belonged-- for the first time ever-- and it made me feel awful. We went on stupid adventures that we shouldn’t have and did shit that we shouldn’t have but we had fun and made memories, and me being both the sentimental sap that I am and the melancholic downer that I can be, I took pleasure in hanging onto those memories and self-indulgently reveled in the dislocation and the regret that I felt. I was in a weird place, feeling lonely but nonetheless happy that I got the chance to even feel a part of something for a little while.

The reason why I’m even bringing any of this up is because the emotion that I’m feeling is both deeply familiar and also deeply alien. I recognize that this is the same feeling that I felt at the time, but it was so long ago and the circumstances in my life or so different now that I can’t actually relate-- which is ironically enough part of the “concept” of the concept album that is The Suburbs. It’s about growing up, and missing (but also not missing) that hazy period of your youth where you’re aimlessly wandering around the suburbs, and the fundamental question at the center of it, I think, is whether or not it’s right to even move past that feeling. Arcade Fire seem to think there’s a a deep importance to that purgatorial period in your life where you’re a kid and you’ve got nothing to do, and although you’re deeply limited in terms of actual mobility you’re also deeply free in your lack of responsibility-- but they also have a deep antipathy and even subdued horror directed toward the very concept of the Suburbs. The question, then, that I have to ask myself is whether or not I really have moved past that feeling, and whether or not I think that’s a good thing. 

Sometimes I can't believe it I'm moving past the feeling Sometimes I can't believe it I'm moving past the feeling again 

-Arcade Fire, The Suburbs

If I could have it back All the time that we wasted I’d only waste it again If I could have it back You know I would love to waste it again Waste it again and again and again I forgot to ask

-Arcade Fire, The Suburbs (Continued). 

The fact that my emotional reaction to even the opening notes of the album is so visceral is a testament to the fact that perhaps I’m not as passed the feeling as I may think I am. But what even is that feeling? “The feeling” is a lyrical motif worked into lines through the album but it’s never really elaborated on. Is that feeling a feeling of being a part of something? Of being young and free? There’s a lot of distrust of growing up and becoming a modern man (or woman):

So I wait my turn, I’m a modern man And the people behind me, they can’t understand Makes me feel like Makes me feel like So I wait in line, I’m a modern man And the people behind me, they can’t understand Makes me feel like Something don’t feel right

In my dream, I was almost there Then they pulled me aside and said, "You’re going nowhere" They say we are the chosen few, but we waste it And that’s why we’re still waiting

Oh, I had a dream I was dreaming And I feel I’m losing the feeling Makes me feel like Like something don’t feel right I erase the number of the modern man Wanna break the mirror of the modern man Makes me feel like Makes me feel like

-Arcade Fire, Modern Man

Growing up I related a lot to the fear of becoming a “modern man”. Of just becoming someone who worked a 9-5, Mon - Fri, and did dull, anonymous, meaningless suburban duties on the weekends with the occasional moment to let loose. I felt so much possibility as a young person; my life could have gone in so many different directions and I felt free to choose them all, and I was worried that I’d only end up getting sucked into a routine, and before too long the built-up detritus of a life only halfheartedly lived would build up and I’d find it altogether too difficult to sweep it all away and do something I was really passionate about. My personal interpretation, I guess, of what “the feeling” is that sense of possibility, and of freedom, and the problem with the modern man is that he forgets that feeling. And, I guess, in a way, I’ve forgotten it too. 

So do I want to go back there? Do I want to go in time to a place where things were just that little bit more simple and I was able to roam, unrestrained by general responsibility, and just sort of savor that sense of freedom? And, more importantly, have I moved “passed” it, and do I think that feeling is something someone should move passed in the process of growing up and becoming an adult? 

Instinctively I want to both argue that the sense of freedom and “the feeling” isn’t just something you have in adolescence that just disappears (there’s ways of maintaining that sense of freedom and possibility right into your adulthood) but admit there’s something about being that young, and naive, and not being confronted with the relentless, often plotless insistence of mediocrity that adulthood can often feel like that should be appreciated. I guess my conclusion is kind of cliché-- that being an adult is sometimes boring and that adolescence is a period of your life that is taken for granted-- but on a personal level I guess I’m okay with moving past that feeling. There’s a deeper and more realizing sense of agency in being an adult, and while often that comes with actually taken on responsibility, paradoxically, there’s ways of maintaining that sense of freedom without completely becoming a “modern man”. I think a lot of what that feeling is, is being able to sense the the outline of the person you want to be and feeling free to pursue that. Arcade Fire seems to think the modern man has lost sight of himself, and they seem to be urging him to assert himself against a massive urban sprawl that only wants him to be a modern man, and I think that asserting yourself isn’t even necessarily something radical. You don’t have to blow up a bank and put an end to capitalism. There are little victories. Making art. Helping others doing the same. Being real and honest with yourself, and by extension the world around you. These, I think, are the things that I want to take away from listening to the album again after all this time. Weird that I have such a different reaction to it now after listening to it again after so many years... 

Here in my place and time And here in my own skin I can finally begin Let the century pass me by, standing under the night sky Tomorrow means nothing

Arcade Fire, Deep Blue. 

#personal #thoughts #music #adulthood #arcade fire #the suburbs #adolescence #nostalgia #freedom #responsibility

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

GBA memories by LeapHere

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

So I’ve decided to sort of reboot my Tumblr after not really using it for a while. There’s a few reasons for this, but the main one is the fact that I kind of like having somewhere on the internet that’s like my personal space; somewhere that I’ve curated to reflect me, and somewhere where I can ramble endlessly about random shit and stuff that makes me happy or passionate or whatever for days on end. Facebook is dead (or at least dying a slow, drawn out death) and while Twitter is fine it’s more suited for miniature outbursts of comedy or moment-to-moment commentary on stuff. I like having somewhere where I feel like I’m free to explore an idea or a concept or a feeling freely, without having to split it up over a quadrillion tweets and hit people’s eyeballs with a heinous thread of interlinked tweets on their dashboard. 

I’d sort of come on here now and again because a lot of the people who I follow are quite funny and get the sort of absurd, meme-y kind of humour that I love, but I wouldn’t do much other than reblog the occassional thing or like it, scrolling endlessly through the dashboard and not really contributing. 

I guess a big reason I want to do this is because my counselor / therapist has made me realize something. I won’t go into a whole lot of detail because it would be kind of weird to delve into some deep personal shit like that out of nowhere, but she’s helped me realize that, in a weird way, I actively avoid stuff that I find fun and fulfilling. She’s helped me come to terms with the idea that I’m scared of being myself because (for whatever reason) a lot of my life who I am has been categorically denied as invalid. I wasn’t really given the chance to explore who I was and what I wanted when I was younger, and it’s meant that I’ve kind of being a late bloomer. I’ve held myself back a lot and put obstacles in front of myself when there need never have had been, because I subconsciously destroy any chance I have at self-actualization because I (subconsciously) think I don’t deserve it. To get back to my point, I need to sort of train myself to see things that are actually fulfilling as something that are worth doing, and not me posturing. (It’s weird, I used to always think that the sort of stuff I found the most fulfilling-- writing, blogging, reading-- was all stuff I did to be pretentious and present a persona, whereas all along I enjoyed it. I reprimanded myself. Funny how your head works).

Doing stuff like this is kind of fulfilling. Just getting my feelings out there. I’ve had tonnes of ideas or just moments of inspiration or admiration or just general outbursts that I’ve wanted to put out there, but haven’t had the platform to do it, or, well, the bravery to do it. I still think in some way that people would just think I’m being silly, or pointless, or see what I have to say as pointless and worthless. There’s still a lot of lingering hesitation and doubt there, despite my awareness of my issue, and it’s something that would take a long time to work through. But this is a part of it. It’s kind of pushing past it and doing what I want to do anyway. Because it’s what I want to do. 

So yeah, that’s kind of it. You’ll probably start seeing more shit from me on here soon, most likely just in regards to ramble-y, gushing posts about shit I love or just random thoughts that come through my head. 

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

i crave simple things in life like fresh sourdough bread with a shallow but ornate dipping bowl containing olive oil/balsamic/fresh herbs on a moonlit evening overlooking the sea in some fuckall, Mediterranean location where i’m left alone to eat my bread and let the iodine from the sea air heal my torn up spirit & also six hundred million dollars in unmarked duffle bags stuffed into a swiss bank account box i receive for completing a job of dubious morality

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

showing up late to a meeting with an iced drink is a power move. like with hot drinks the cup is opaque and people cant tell the temperature so they dont know how long ago you got it. maybe its hours old. maybe you just got caught in traffic. who can say. but iced drinks. its clear. they can see the ice. they can see if its still frozen. they look you in the eye and they know you were standing in line fifteen minutes ago and made the conscious, deliberate decision to get a mocha frap instead of being on time. and then you made ANOTHER conscious, deliberate decision to bring it into the meeting with you, informing everyone in attendance that on your list of priorities, each and every one of them ranks firmly below one (1) mocha frappuchino.

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

The wilds are host to many dangerous foes.