The Beautiful Sadness

January 10, 2009

Dear Reader,

No doubt passers by to this blog might wonder sometimes,  is there something wrong with me? How can I write reams on and on about the Australian Film Industry, or narrate an endless dissection of human misery, combine it with some wit and silliness and from my glass house describe airy fairy ideas of Transcendental Fascism? How indeed. I’m not sure myself sometimes.

Sometimes the world just makes me sad.

The world is a beautifully sad place is it not?

The sun setting slowly over Ballardian suburban landscapes, the shopping mall filled with zombies and their prams endlessly prolonging their pointlessness, the look of ignorance about the attendant at the service station, the empty gesture of an old friend who failed to be a real friend long ago, the trite vanity of sites like facebook and myspace that we all fill with pointless hip comments and digressions, the few roses we find amongst the ruins, the beautiful poem or obscure philosopher you find that confirms some sublime or obscure idea, the internet and technology sucking us in and controlling our empty lives, the melancholy of family, the stupidity of many relationships, the monstrous cruelty of nature, the five star hotel, the massage at the health center, the gym and its body fascist ethos, the empty car park, the dead friend you wished you had spent more time with, the waiting in traffic, the stupidity on the faces of most people you see, the lack of discernment, taste and distinction that is Legion, the teleology of vacant consumerism, new dvd’s, the new runners, the latest hippest new band’s CD special edition, the obscure 2nd hand bookshop, the utopian island retreat, realizing that life is worthless in many ways, the cosmic insignificance of all around, knowing the time of great deeds is gone, the individual is truly dead, the lack of historical perspective, the absence of any kind of deep knowledge, the dumbing down, the game show host smile, the parade of vacuous celebrity,  the fact that people don’t actually process the fact that they will one day die, the cowardice of spirit that increases with each new generation.

All beautifully sad…more sad than beautiful, sometimes…

Is depression a disease, or really just seeing things as they actually are? Are people simply being medicated out of factical reality?

Luckily, sometimes it makes me so sad as to make me angry. And from Anger comes the will to do something, however insignificant, to at least try and change, no…at least share a desire for change, no… at least share a cry of pain… to be heard amongst the handful of thinking people who might actually read a collection of words like this. Or view a work of art.

For what reason one may do that, is entirely a mystery…

Regards

Richard

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