#Misinterpreting the mcu for fun and profit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

violetsystems · 6 years ago

Text

#personal

It can be a nightmare after all these years to be too transparent for public record. I imagine it would be something like a poltergeist; always bumping into things and being misinterpreted or read into. The age old posit of “Shit Happens” doesn’t leave much room for argument or even proof of life Nobody ever seems to hear my side of things other than when I write about it here. Nobody registers the endless frustration because I hide it all so well. I changed a lot of my routines in the last two weeks specifically. A year ago I started getting harassed at the gym so I changed my schedule there to an early one. Eventually I quit the gym altogether. These days I don’t even own a gym membership. The Nike Training App core routines and some barbells have delivered far more than the stress I had leaving the house. I think I’ve learned over time that Yoga and Pilates in the back bedroom teaches you more about form and control. I use a mirror to monitor my posture. I don’t feel any prying eyes on me behind closed doors. For years everybody knows I’ve been my own coach and source of motivation. The source of inspiration is a given and that’s always been fiercely personal to me. The fact that it should be so obvious is something I’ve learned to enjoy because it is to me. But nobody particularly knows or cares what goes on in my personal life other than here where I write. They forget about the weeks and the work therein. So I probably resemble a ghost clanking with chains in the hallways. There’s no causality because nobody pays enough attention to accept I exist. I’m stuck in a limbo between the known and unknown. There’s some attention I avoid. I avoid heavy doses of it every day because I know better. It’s sticks out like a sore thumb socially and I’ve had to practice a sort of poker face. People often have a habit of expressing their distaste that I think for myself. I changed my train route to work. I still bump into awkward invisible walls. People trying to hijack my narrative in public. People afraid of ghosts I guess. Some cultures leave offerings for the dead. Others try to exorcise and eradicate them. Some people throw dust to the wind and some people keep their loved ones in a jar above the fireplace. I’m still alive clawing at the fabric of society and not so much reality. Society is fake this we all know. More obsessed with post truth and fake news than statistical based science. I used to have more dread towards my situation. That I would be completely forgotten and misunderstood for the rest of my life. Obviously people following me around on my commute regardless of my route disproves that fate. People treat me like Frankenstein sometimes. Pitchforks, torches and all. Every other week I’m on trial for a different section of my being. I’m a patchwork of things I’ve picked up from art school year after year. And year after year there’s something else that claims it’s cooler, fresher, and more alive. A good excuse to keep me buried. To keep the heresy out of plain sight. And then there’s me banging away at the keyboard early in the morning on the internet like a spirit in the tv static. People free to read into the message however they please. Most people just surf right through me. The noise is still out there every Saturday pulsing like a brain in a petri dish. The horror.

I read this article about how they were growing brain tissue in a lab. There was this rhythmic pulse of electricity that they couldn’t explain. The ethics of testing on conscious living material are dicey at best. So are half the relational aesthetics driven social experiments done in the name of justice and revolution. What is right and normal is a lengthy discussion. But it requires dialog. Sometimes I feel like that brain in a dish trying to give a signal but nobody wants to acknowledge. No one wants the inconvenience of reading how I really feel. My routine the last year has been fairly measured and predictable. Yet people still feel the need to watch and make sure. It’s been a bit of an insult to come full circle a year later and know full well I told you so. And some of that sting from my own pride is softened by the fact that I broke free from the petri dish a long time ago. Patch worked my own identity in the face of valid harsh criticism. I am who I am and I accept pretty much everyone at face value. I have saved so much face this year that I’ve become more weary of public and how much it takes to put on the act and show. For all the revolutionary movements I’ve supported and all the calls to action I’ve heeded nothing much has changed for me. In America there is this endless cycle of outrage. Right versus left. Good versus evil. Black versus white. And it spirals into a fractal of endless opinions and vitriol. Nothing gets defined. Compromise is completely nonexistent. Closure is a luxury most cannot afford. You can’t have closure without getting yourself wrapped up in a bigger drama which limits and belittles the argument in favor of populism or worse. The tribe of public opinion has spoken. You have been voted off the Deleuzian Island you were shipwrecked on. A reality exposition in front of camera phones and a conscripted army of influencers. America has moved from clique to tribe. Everything is a little more Mad Max than it used to be. On the weekends I still stare out my kitchen window early in the morning. People have so many hidden expectations for me now it exhausts me just thinking about it. It is pure mental anguish to read into all the projections and there’s no real payoff. What statement shirt will I see today. What hidden message or Easter Egg do I have to squint my eyes at to prove I’m fully woke. It’s what is expected of me to be left alone I guess. Yes I’m ok. Yes I have a job. Yes I keep myself busy. Yes I keep myself out of trouble. Yes everything outside of my apartment these days seems to be causing me more trouble than it’s worth. Yes I’m very sad on the inside. And yes none of that really matters because when I shut the door and think about the people I care about it’s all worth it. Because I’m not some experiment in a dish that demands some qualitative proof of my usefulness to science, life and America. I’m my own science project. A mixture of phantom, shade and shambling mound. I figured out a way to hide the scar tissue in broad daylight and let the sun fill the hollows in my face. I’m the most handsome Frankenstein to walk the Earth. Maybe more of the Hulk for good measure. Aren’t they pretty much the same thing anyway?

Universal Studios actually owns the film rights to Frankenstein down to the makeup. The only Frankenstein movie to ever make it to Japan was because of a guy from Chicago selling the rights to Toho. He’s also the guy that could have boosted Lenny Bruce’s career. He instead launched Woody Allen’s rise to stardom. A parable lies within all of this. Maybe why we’ll never see a decent standalone Hulk movie inside the MCU. Maybe I’ll just read the comics instead and let it play out in my own head. There’s a lot of bullshit that I don’t ever want to be part of. A lot of soul sucking corporate tactics that don’t honor the actual art form. And there’s the reality that money, jobs, and careers make the world go round. I work at a non profit. I make a non profit salary. I’ve lived being made to feel like I’m inferior to money. I’ve learned how to budget myself a return to New York every two months. Someone at work asked if I had any gigs there. I said I quit music because it was threatening my safety. In truth the last year was really about setting up a perimeter in my life. A place that was safe enough and anonymous to share some intimacy with another person. Music didn’t serve that for me anymore. It hindered my goals. How I’ve gone about building fences around my garden has been akin to that scene in Frankenstein negotiating with the villagers. Except in a no holds barred me alone against the court of public opinion sort of way. Modern day Hulk has evolved into a sort of cultured retaliation against the mobs. He’s still too similar to the mad scientist story to make poetic cinema out of it all. Me I live this shit every day. Hulk in Hell. Abused in some ways and blessed in others. People don’t like it when I’m angry. I guess as they say that’s the trick. I’m angry all the time. It’s how I act upon it. How I sacrifice my incomprehensible rage and tortured feelings out of love. For me I spent the whole last year doing something about it. Challenging the infrastructure of all this bullshit and leading by example. Too much force and you break things. Too little and they walk all over you. Lenny Bruce had the entire police department after him for saying what he felt. Woody Allen succeeded in Hollywood. How you view the hypocrisy of all that is all in what you accept and what you resist. Resistance isn’t fun. And it looks different for everyone. The most political battle to fight is the personal one. The right to be and the right to think. What is the real different between Frankenstein and the Human Ken Doll anyway? Who owns the rights to me being me? What gives me the right to have an opinion? Who I can talk to and who I can love? What I need to become to be treated as an equal in the public eye? What people have done to stop me from becoming who I really am? Why do I even care about having a popularly accepted opinion when no one listens? Who has room for drama in their life when I only make space for all the love I have for you? Of all the pieces of my life that I stitched together you are the most important one to me. Because you are the piece that makes me whole just by being you. It’s not a missing link it’s been an important foundation to my struggle. If I keep bumping into you in the dark just remember it’s a love tap. I don’t mind if you tap back. Only you though. Fuck all this other shit. <3 Tim

0 notes