How One Learns

Thinking about childhood, an adult might be prone to see one’s current habits as a consequence of a peculiar need for protection. The sense of vulnerability is perhaps among the intensities that can easily make one believe that certain type of conduct is sought in order to sustain the very oscillations between fear and safety.

We are moving through unknown lands. Our steps are insecure. As we are moving, we know that there is noise obstructing the walk. We are not always sure were noise comes from. We know that it is not always an audio sensation. We have been through many noisy situations. Seen numberless examples of the sabotage in question. We bear witness to the most brutal violation of stories. We can tell when rhetoric is being imposed to pass for something it is not. And yet, this by no means is to claim the power to prevent anyone from exercising such communicational persuasion. It is more than obvious that freedom of interpretation can result in misuse of the very terms. Consequently, it can affect the perception of words in the way that makes abuse a euphemism of the highest order.

Woke up and felt sick all morning. Thought I might go and make a doctor’s appointment. Decided against. Felt too sick to go. To sick to think. To fucked up to care how it felt. Realized some tea could do me good. Hesitated. Muscles too limp to move. Limbs too disinterested for  reintegration. Head to heavy to engage in focusing on how long to steep the tea bag. Herbs always did it for me. Knew it would be the same now. Still, couldn’t bother to try. Wondered why. For a second thought masochism could be the  infatuation governing the situation. Thought just for that fucking second. Gave it up. Couldn't move despite the awareness. 

Thought laziness was stronger than desire to get rid of the fucking sickness. Too lazy to believe that shit. Felt like crying. Thought why. Felt lonely. Thought thinking about it made me feel lonely. To fuck with loneliness.

Although it may sometimes have nothing to do with words, rhetoric is noise. As one is becoming persuaded in the multitude of the ways to obstruct flow in the communication channel, one realizes that just as symbolic is being disturbed, so can such an act be exposed in the entirety of its distastefulness. Furthermore, its sorry attempt to pass for something it is not can also be disclosed. Needless to say, it suffices to make it an instance of self-aggrandizing, but also self-annihilating linguistic acrobatic of a cannibalist kind. Its versatility is fascinating. And so is its skillfulness. Perhaps for those who haven’t seen anything else.

Thought thoughts of feeling fucked up would leave me if warm liquid melts the paralyzing anxiety.  Didn’t feel thrilled. Thought if so unappealing was also the thought of getting rid of loneliness. Decided it didn’t matter. It was the very perseverance in the indulgence that was indulgence itself. And it made the perseverance ever more persistent. Thought sadomasochism could be at stake. Decided against. Clear as fuck: the preservation of the very sensation was the key parameter in the whole experience. To fuck with imposed labels.

Abusive rhetoric in nihilo-cannibalist culture assaulted words by the very effort to deviate them to the point of grotesque divergence from the source at which it takes a lot of time and energy to detect it. Sometimes, the distorted meaning features such mimicry of playfulness that it can hardly be identified as sheer exhibition of combining learned patterns to the point when in the communication channel the flow gets so heavily obstructed that the only way to comprehend that it is merely a manifestation of the society of buzzers is to actually look at what kind of living environment it creates. One of the most striking impressions is how it affects education. More precisely, it seriously threatened and almost squeezed out the academic discipline called cultural studies. Having traditionally been delineated by the four cultural categories, cultural studies has been reduced to only one due to nihilo-cannibalist rhetoric. In particular, gender, ethnicity, and race have been taken up by the very prevalent one—class. Now, class has evolved into a miracle of a sort. Not only has it been the most peculiar hybrid among the categories to start with, but it has been so daringly demonstrating its reckless inconsistency that it tricks even itself. To say that its hybrid nature results from its relentless oscillations between from biological, via sociological determinism, to cultural constructs and other kinds of conditioning is only to realize that  it no longer cares how it oscillates. Not because everybody decided they were born well off. Neither because all became communists. Rather because how much money per hour one can make became the ultimate fantasy of humanity. Or so a firm belief in the logic of the market has it.

After the tea soothed the harshness of the nauseating weakness, the feeling of not being vulnerable felt alienatingly dissoluble. Thought all mornings should be an extended sensation of latent torture. Thought that seeking that moment of the herbal power lifting the torment is what evokes experiences that confirm the existence of the need to be protected and, by extension, there still being something unadulterated that an adult can scarcely reach within oneself, be it not for such mornings. Worthy of resuming as the feeling might be, it should not confusedly be equated with the reason for unquestionably adhering to a habit ensuring a continuous invocation of vulnerability as the gateway to being relieved of it. Because there are other childhood experiences. There are other sensations so carefully treasured that no vulnerability is necessary to make them more vivacious than they are. Vulnerability is certainly not all what childhood is about.

I wish I knew more combinations of words to invoke such moments. I wish I could still believe that all the memories of the past are but a reminder of a shameful succession of unenticing, uninspiring moments leading to even less impressive experiences that by very virtue of its insipidness proved incommensurable with any possible candidate for a comparison.