Quarter of three. It is very cold inside the house. I’m not sure why I got up for a few minutes. All the world’s asleep and the questions run so deep for such a simple man. Yet I’m not simple at all, in the eyes of other people. My family can’t figure me out, but I think I have them pegged. As I’ve said before, I’m a conventional intellectual just as they are conventional cowboys. Everyone is a stereotype, and we are molded that way by education and other modes of society. It isn’t anybody’s fault; it was the monster. The big machine makes us what we are. It gives us a few options along the way, but what we are is ultimately determined by precisely those choices. It is much like choosing the words to write on this tablet even this very moment. It makes me want to be a Luddite and break all machines; sneak into the factories in the dead of night and do the dirty deed. Human beings are not as stupid as society believes we are. The best we can do is start from scratch, break the old molds and defy tradition as much as possible. We need to be our own option makers. We need to esteem value for ourselves, and again from scratch. Perhaps I’m only writing this for myself? But no: the machines are taking over humanity and it’s up to you and me to do something about it. Together we must rise and read our D H Lawrence and read the writing on the wall. Someday our humanity will be completely extinct, all the red blood sucked out of our vessels, all our spontaneous instinct destroyed, our brains chipped and bionic. The Age of the Cyborg is upon us, as corny as this sounds. What are you going to do about it?
Warning: Sexual content
Quarter after three. In a violent erotic fantasy, I turned the tables on Sheryl the therapist. It was a necessary step for my sexuality. The catalyst for it was reading some brutal William Faulkner. Sheryl had me convinced that I was submissive and gay, but I finally turned it around in fantasy to myself being dominant and straight. It was up to me to undo the damage done by so-called therapy. No amount of further therapy with women would’ve helped. Unfortunately, there aren’t very many male therapists in my area, no one to teach assertiveness anymore. With me and Sheryl it was always a power struggle. Towards the end she was losing control over my sessions, and that panicked her. She was a mean sort of person, disliked by her coworkers. I didn’t like her either. Her project was to dominate and subvert her clients and be a little Hitler. She played mind games with people. I only saw her for ten months, but it was enough to get me messed up for time to come. The final analysis is that sexuality is entirely a state of mind and of power, of dominance and submission, of male and female. Strength begins with the mind and not necessarily the body. Perhaps masculine and feminine are merely states of mind, of spirit or principle. One is active and the other passive. I’m not sure. But I’m done with mental chess with little Hitlers.
Eleven twenty five. I just listened to most of Selling England by the Pound. It’s my favorite Genesis Cd. I had a thought a bit ago: within reason, I am totally free. I can be a night owl if I want. I can have dinner for breakfast. I feel that freedom is very important. Somebody in my life was too controlling, and that had consequences. It was bad enough that my parents were overprotective, but then Mom assigned me to my siblings: a huge mistake. I was 34 years old when she passed away, definitely old enough to take care of myself. I went through hell with my family. But now I’ve got this big renovated house all to myself, and with all this free time and even a little money to play with. I didn’t orchestrate it this way. Life just fell into place with me along for the ride. I’m alone a lot of the time, but I’m okay with that. It beats being oppressed by someone else.
I’m even free from the psychiatrist I fired in 2017. Polly thought I was still seeing him when she sought me out last October. But that’s just another sign of what’s been wrong with my life. Dr T— was a dictator. He treated all of his patients that way. I couldn’t take any more of that. Everybody had advice for me, and then I realized it was all contradictory. Nobody agreed with anyone else. I found that my own opinion was good enough:— in fact, it was righteous.
It is so imperative that everyone trust themselves in a world where opinions and advice are ubiquitous. Judge the value for yourself. We all possess the right to esteem what is right and wrong, and what is important. Don’t be a sheep or a fish or any animal but a human being. And when you assert yourself, people will treat you with more respect.
Quarter of two. I’ve been having nightmares about Sheryl’s motives for trying to dissuade me from heterosexual relationships. The obvious thing is that gay sex doesn’t make babies. The whole point of intercourse, from a rational perspective, is reproduction. It is nature’s way. But what if I do want to father a child of my own? The hideous thing is to think that Sheryl tried to prohibit a person with schizophrenia from reproducing. This is called eugenics, or the practice of keeping genetic weaknesses out of the gene pool. The Nazis had the same idea…
It really pays to do your own thinking and choosing. To keep your own counsel. If you don’t have your eyes and ears open, then all manner of mayhem can result. Only the individual knows what is best for himself. If you have a brain, then it’s in your best interest to use it. I defy those who say “you can’t.” The truth is that everyone is free to choose. And if people disagree with your choices, and if you lose friends, just persist. Eventually things fall into place.
Near midnight. I dreamed that Tim from church was helping me unpack my books, sorting out which ones to keep. I feel sad about my break with the congregation. Still no one has called to ask about me. I imagine that they accept that this time it’s over. I did the honest thing and disabused them of any more deception from me. Lisa’s reply was great; she didn’t take personal offense. But I fear that Pastor may have felt hurt and angry. Eventually everyone will accept. It hits me as hard as anyone else to admit to unbelief. I wouldn’t want for my skepticism to be contagious to the others. Saying goodbye was inevitable after a certain point. I feel a lot like John Proctor in The Crucible, executed for his honesty and integrity. I expect that everyone goes through a test like this at some time in their lives. In the end we come out even more like ourselves, but stronger and harder than before. More individual and more alone, but it’s the same solitude for everybody. The difference is that most people don’t dare to speak what they truly experience. They lack the courage; sometimes the tools. So I make this post as an inspiration to anyone else struggling for self expression.
Six thirty. Jeff is still jealous regarding his mother. It’s the strangest thing I ever heard of. Polly only calls me when her son is not around. Usually only lovers act like that; it’s called sexual jealousy. If I’m not mistaken, Jeff’s hang up with his mother could influence his sexuality in a gay direction. Polly is consciously blind to the little family romance. She participates in and indulges this “relationship.” She doesn’t realize that mother son incest is the worst taboo in the world. Polly needs to get a life of her own and leave her son alone. My own mother was over assertive with me as well, resulting in an emotional disaster. What is wrong with the women in my family? Why the dominance over their sons? The family system is a screwed up matriarchy, a network of strong women and effeminate men. And that’s the point I hate about Polly and my deceased mother. It’s just backwards from normal. Or anyway, it doesn’t work for me, being a man trapped in a web of masculine women…
The reason I like Sartre is because he champions the condition and rights of the individual without reference to a person’s family or any social context. The individual is an end in himself. I will to be an existential hero in the tradition of Sartre, and in turn of Don Quixote in the Putnam translation. “I know who I am and who I may be, if I choose.” Words to live by. Individual freedom is worth fighting for, perhaps the only worthwhile endeavor. Is it too much to dream of? The impossible dream…
Quarter of one. All the company is gone for today. The bed is set up. Polly and I tried a test with Aesop, but it looked like he would’ve attacked her. She took it personally, I think. Charlie was here to take some pictures of the kitchen. I observed Polly being over assertive again, trying to seize control of my business. I just hate that! She stepped in and tried to make decisions for me as if this were her house. Aesop served as a kind of barometer for her visit. The sun has come out, thankfully. The remainder of the day should be smooth and easy. Charlie is nice to me, and has always been. Polly left as he was arriving. I thought that was a little odd. The look on her face was grim and determined when she drove away in the old Toyota van. I never know what to think. From experience I know she has a temper. Her emotions dictate to her reason instead of the reverse. We are contraries to each other in this regard. Thomas Dolby: “But the skies are blue and sunny… But the skies… are blue and sunny.”