May 07, 2007

i think this is going to be awkward at best

this ->. might be a good point to stop reading this entry, what follows below is very much about matti's head and what goes on therein. thanks for stopping by.

since i've all but given up my privacy with this stuff, might as well be generally honest. let's see what comes out of this.

a while back i started liking a song again that for a long-ass time, for reasons unclear to myself, made me too uncomfortable to even hear it. what is that shit?

anyway. i see things in magical terms, recently. not in terms of any literal belief, but as things things and people having powers and tendencies and properties you don't have words for. your language-mind and common sense tell you it's not real because of where we draw the line from real to silly superstition, but then somehow we accept that "ennui" can exist or "guilt" or "love". that's the level i'm talking about, here.

which weirdness is something i take on board in a big way because it's something like a raw feed of what you are in the world. a new sense. and actually listening to that shit gets you into funny places, mentally. that's where it gets unexpected: you essentially start thinking magically. and every once in a while your conscious mind just grabs you by the shoulder and does this one-eyebrow-raise thing as if you're turning yourself into a kid or a savage and he's worried, but you know, fuck that guy: you know better. we're looking at something invigorating, here. it's so not fucking coincidental that the root of "enthusiasm" comes from being possessed.

you never think you're actually guided by ideas stronger than you, because they are how you see things, not what you see. for as long i remember, it turns out, i've been basically controlled by a vague christian-shaped guilt over maybe teetering on the brink of some temptation or other. usually laziness, doing unhealthy things, shit like that. and there's been the illusion that by consciously trying you could somehow make a difference in what you do (which is strangely common) but its even more surreal corollary that it makes a difference that you worry. (what the peril really is is never known, and that's a crucial part of the illusion). yet even as i thought this, i could have sworn it was nothing like me.

then it kind of sneaks on you and wham: fuck that karmic nag. you do actually like to do the things that are good to you and others. you won't make a dent in your bad habits by worrying about them. you, as the you you experience you are, are not you and you are especially, emphatically not the decision-maker w/r/t what you do.

the mass of humanity so far has lived a messy, exhilarating, dangerous and vile existence, you know, so far.. and until you as the contemporary part of that tidal wave have a desk job and hobbies in a calendar. you. the latest chapter of mankind's existence—depravity, illness, murder, war and eurovision—you worry about like smoking. if you actually were connected in your sheltered life to things that make a difference, which means your actions would obviously and directly shape or take lives, or yours was directly at stake, you wouldn't keep yourself up at night by trivial stuff.

and so then you kick back about it. what if.. could you be completely immoral if you tried? gave it a shot? gave yourself license to become your private little sociopath? does a temporary small-scale epiphany have the momentum to really subvert your adaptation into society? hell no. you end up noticing that your instinct is nothing if not to be good and kind to your fellow man. and in that realization there is one more distinction: you don't care so much about their feelings (as that would lower you both), but something that's behind that. like their elán or something.

and that's the magical shit.

(note - if you read this and feel a compulsion to call my bullshit or something, comments on the blog being broken you are welcome to drop a line at here)

Posted by matti at 06:10 PM | Comments (0)

April 03, 2007

training log

after today's gym session, my decidedly feel-the-burn type macho tiny h&m plastic bag — "designed by madonna" — that contained my fresh underwear & deodorant collapsed from its ordained position in the locker and made a rather unpleasant crashing sound upon meeting the cold hard floor.

consider the context. guys' locker room. right? i honestly can't tell you which i was more keen to wipe off my one clean pair of briefs post haste: the scary shards of glass from the deo container, or the blotches of really suspicious white spoogy substance they were suddenly covered in.

in any case — i put them on, and judging from quantity of deodorant implicitly worn as a consequence (ick) i am expecting to break my next sweat maybe sometime in late 2010.

as a side note: your underutilized brain goes random free-association places when working out. like those names of the exercise machines?

calf raise = premodern career development
chin up bar = your local where everyone is really supportive
hip abductor = ford prefect
not a machine, but there's also a: ball rack holder

hey, i didn't ask to think about them either.

Posted by matti at 09:02 PM | Comments (0)

February 14, 2007

mid-feb update

before

i thought: i'll just go into the hospital, they fix my busted insides and i'll just kick back for a week or two, braid and unbraid my hair, eat tiramisu with a long spoon and every once in a while send a pulse of envy-vibes jobwards.

after

i'm at home, i can't go anywhere, i'm decidedly not free from work stuff (helping out the new guy, working on on a proposal for a new cool client, one job i just can't delegate), and i don't have any kind of furniture for working here so doing anything on the computer for prolonged times = soreness and discomfort. oh that and there's work i should do on the finn-brit players site, which is my burden for another year.

meanwhile, i marvel at the surgical job that's left my lower abdomen bruised like it was pummeled with a crowbar. and my meds work, but they're boring. nothing like the post-op oxycodone IV buzz at the hospital; not even codeine.

and in the midst of this disappointing procrastination and meh, i get bored. oh how i get bored. sign one: i'm writing one of these kinds of blog entries.

oh well. at least andi brought me loads of quality TV shows to watch.

over & out, for now.

Posted by matti at 02:07 AM | Comments (0)

May 16, 2005

extreme candid camera

what really goes on in my head.
(may take a while to load. and yes, it's me in the pic.)

Posted by matti at 02:49 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 01, 2005

Whey!

i have it on good authority that a man must at some point go down a number of roads. however, i maintain that in life, protein supplement powders are pretty fucking optional. now, i have to admit that as someone naturally averse to considering the body itself an object to be manipulated and tweaked by external means  (in fact, make that "averse to considering the body, full stop") i'm a bit apprehensive about diving into this particular cultural perversion.

i mean, fuck, it says right there on the bag: "warning! do not use. side effects may include nausea, vomiting, death, consumption, the vapors,the bends, the clash, the white stripes and projectile dysfunction."

Posted by matti at 11:58 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack