Friday, 28 October 2011


How do I gauge my complex feelings towards women? ...

A look at some of my stories - or indeed these blog posts - and I may be accused of misogny. Not only are my female characters card-board cut-outs, they are simply there as objects of desire. At best, they are objects of love...

With the exception of family members, I don't see women that much. They are a mystery. While I am often infatuated with certain girls, this is never reciprocated.

Though I must say, the few times I have met women I find that I can have far more coherent conversations with them... I find them more accessible.

But then... I find most English girls pretty vile. They continue to hold dear the social codes of the school playground - laugh at 'nerds', smother themselves up with make-up, be materialistic - that to consider spending time with me is pretty laughable.

And it should indeed come as no surprise that in the first two occasions where I made advances with women, these girls weren't English.

I saw a beautiful French girl at the airport in Paris. We looked at each other and smiled. This has never happened before.

And a few weeks later I flirted with a girl - from Syria... I seemed to have charmed her - she laughed throughout our entire conversation and said that she really enjoyed talking to me. This girl may even have considered to be sexy, but I let her slip away...

I don't at all hate women. I'd say that, in a warped sort of way, I am obsessed with them... Sadly Darwin got it spot on with the law of sexual attraction: to be attractive, you have to dress yourself decently and open yourself up to win someone else's heart. I am scruffy and withdrawn, which is why, on the whole, girls tend to ignore me or, depending on the level of cuntishness, scold me.

Wednesday, 26 October 2011


I am enthusiastic about the things that I am interested in...

But then I have made the discovery that I am apathetic about most things...

Seriously, I find that I don't care. While I am interested in certain aspects of politics and current events, talk to me about your passion for organic food, your emphatic interest in abolishing abortion or your deep disrespect for euthanasia and... you'll find me yawning.

Not to speak of science and mathematics... I remember how my dad tried in vain to coach me for GCSE maths... I mean, the few times I did manage to work out the formulas I was left cold... I mean, yeah, I get it - but what's its use? I'm sure if you study it at a more advanced level, or if you study physics, you may apply it to something more useful... But I am not willing to plough through the rudimentary basics to get to that...

And geology - again I'm apathetic. I love nature, I love beautiful landscapes... but if you were to explain how these landscapes were formed by centuries of erosion or whatever I don't give a fuck. In San Pedro de Atacama the guides would explain how the rocks were formed there, how salt appeared there... This didn't shed light on the landscape's beauty...

We keep coming back to this - people. I simply don't care about other's tribulations or quandaries... And I find most people so detached from what I'm like that to care for them... would be like caring for alien species from a distant galaxy. I'm sure this is exactly what people feel when reading this blog or what you are experiencing right now reading these very words.

Yet I'm not a nihilist. I see hope. I see a way out. That's why I stick to what I care about. And I battle on and on.

Friday, 21 October 2011

A list of people I despise

Sergio Jadue, Cristian Warnken, Rodrigo Hinzpeter (blimey, three Chilean people in succession), Julio Grondona, Richard Dawkins, a few people from my old school in England who have in all likelihood forgotten about me, Boris Johnson, David Cameron, Raymond Domenech, Sarah Palin, Oprah, Martin Amis, Jarvis Cocker, Thom York, George Bush, Bill O'Reilley, Sepp Blatter, Tom Cruise, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Alejandro Jodorowsky, Phil Collins.

I'll try to think of more later.



One has to wonder if the adjectives "Genius," "Best," or "Masterpiece" are really accurate descriptions for something...

Or the need for wanking over a film or whatever with flowery language.

The French are really good at that. I'm sure if you were to take out the arts section of La Monde I'm sure it's teeming with such language.

'Overstatement' also purports to be the absolute truth... For instance, my book of a J. G. Ballard short story collection has the omnipresent Will Self declare "The most important British contemporary writer." Really, Will? According to what or whom? Basically he is camouflaging his own predilections and preferences.

And, like the previous post 'Chic', once more I will confess that I am also guilty of 'overstatement' Just a quick read through some of my posts and many recurring words surface like "Best," "Most important," or "Remarkable," etc.

Though I guess overstatement is useful in some instances. When one wants to prove a point one has to resort to overgeneralising, to prove a more complex subject in a more condensed simplified language... It still gets on my tits every now an then, though.

Sunday, 16 October 2011

She's gonna groove it the whole night long

'Bo Duddley' by Peter Cook and Dudley Moore

Saturday, 15 October 2011


I really don't like flamboyance.

So, in turn, I don't really like showing my personality to others.

But that's something most people do - it shows in ther clothes, in their mannerisms, their vanity.

And it shows in a lot of art - the "Oh, look at me," chic poncey crap.

That's why I've become disenchanted with a lot of movements I previously revered. The Beat movement, for instance. With the exception of William Burroughs I don't think many of its participants were particularly good writers. A lot of it just consists of superfluous tricks aiming to floor the audience. Allen Ginsberg's poetry is, I find, self-consciously playful, hip and just plain literary onanism. Even though I did to some extent enjoy On the Road when I was 16 one has to admit that its literary value owes far more to its context than content.

The same can be said for much of the French new wave. Even though I love many of the films that emerged from the movement, much of it was far more concerned with self-conscious posing than any actual revolutionising of cinema.

So, yeah, in essence, we all want to be a little chic. I can't stand the idea of it and that's probably one of my many shortcoming. We can't help but feel a little vain.

This may seem quite contradictory because a lot of the writing on this blog is pure chicness... Long-winded philosophising, flowery reviews of books, venerating comments about art films... Damn.

Thursday, 13 October 2011


Here I'll propound a theory on solitude.

Days when I don't meet people I feel splendid. I feel 'fulfilled', content, productive. I'm not plagued by existential dilemmas or anything of the sort: I feel like I'm really accomplishing something.

On the other, days when I meet others... I feel miserable. Either because I said something that made me look like an arsehole, the way others regard me or comments other people make.

So: the three days I come into contact with others, total fucking misery; the rest of the week where I don't communicate, wonderful.

This may go against the grain of scientific proof, but fuck me, this is the way my mind tends to work. I guess that makes me inhuman.

Though science is true to some extent: if I don't communicate at all I literally go insane. That's why I have to communicate in moderation - even if it means ringing my dad up every evening and waffling about the thoughts circulating through my head.

In any case, when other people see me, I can tell they think of me as some sort of parasitic non-entity. They have that eye on me; the same eye that all the low-lives and cunts had on me in the past. Why should I mingle with them? They are just as secular and unwilling to embrace eccentricity as the people I encountered previously. Maybe a little more educated, but that's as far as it goes.

Tuesday, 11 October 2011


My concentration is beginning to wane...

After all, I've been on this v. potent medication for almost four years...

I'm ok-ish at lectures and seminars, but when it comes to independent work... I can't concentrate. I've yet to find a rhythm, so I'm kind of stuck in a lethargic stupor.

Today was a major advancement: I worked for three continuous hours without my mind wandering away. Though it must be said, by the time I was finished, my brain was throbbing.

I'd have been far better off studying at university at the age of 17/18. Back then I could easily read 60+ pages per day without difficulty. Now, at most, I get through 30 pages... And that's just the bare primary reading - there's a lot of secondary reading I haven't got my hands on.

I seem to be on the moon perpetually... For instance, when I was in Chile some people in the south seriously believed that I had attention deficit disorder because I hardly ever heard dinner-table conversations... So they'd ask me a question and I'd simply stare blankly into space without acknowledging them. This olanzapine has gradually built some sort of wall around my brain, which sort of barricades vital information - either trivial or intellectual - from breaking in and getting processed.

Hopefully I'll be come off it soon and hopefully... I might get into a rhythm for my course.

Sunday, 9 October 2011

Top 11 Films - Revised

Where would I be without lists...

1. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968, Stanley Kubrick) USA
2. Blue Velvet (1986, David Lynch) USA
3. Andrei Rublev (1966, Andrei Tarkovsky) RUSSIA
4. A Man Escaped (1956, Robert Bresson) FRANCE
5. Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1971, Werner Herzog) GERMANY
6. The Second Heimat (1992, Edgar Reitz) GERMANY
7. The Big Lebowski (1998, Coen Brothers) USA
8. The Producers (1968, Mel Brooks) USA
9. Taxi Driver (1977, Martin Scorcese) USA
10. The Passion Joan of Arc (1928, Carl Theodor Dreyer) DENMARK/FRANCE
11. Three Colours Trilogy (1993-94, Kryzstof Kieslowski) POLAND/FRANCE

Honourable mentions: Crimes and Misdemeanors, Barton Fink, Dr. Strangelove, Stalker, Mirror La grand illusion, Ordet, Videodrome, A Short Film about Killing, The King of Comedy, The Seventh Seal, Alphaville, Vivre Sa Vie, The Green Ray, Metropolis, Spellbound, Bicycle Thieves, Burden of Dreams, The White Ribbon. ETC.

Fuck, I'm procrastinating again. I'm so easily distracted...

Friday, 7 October 2011


After writing a the stories in my 'Confroting Reality' collection (the seven stories described in the side bar) I found that a few were were similar to films and books I had read in the past. I hadn't set out out to replicate them, but they seeped into my mind and had an impact on the end result.

Below I list two influences on four stories. I couldn't find any parallels for three stories (Painting on the Wall, S. B. S.B + Parasite), so these aren't listed.

False Beauty

The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano (Chile, novel, 1998)
The Outsider by Alber Camus (France, novel, 1942)

Deep Down in Talca

The Feast of the Goat by Mario Vargas Llosa (Peru, novel, 2000)
Pulp Fiction by Quentin Tarantino (USA, film, 1994)

The Perpetual Death of the Composer

Doctor Faustus by Thomas Mann (Germany, novel, 1947)
The Locked Room by Paul Auster (USA, novella, 1987)

Planet Zhelanie

Stalker by Andrei Tarkovsky (Russia, film, 1977)
The Circular Ruins by Jorge Luis Borges (Argentina, short story, 1941)

Monday, 3 October 2011


There are many perceptions that can't be put to words, which are somehow 'ineffable'... For me, at least, certain books or films, and pretty much all music, can't be elucidated. More pressingly, to evoke certain sensations by words is simply impossible...

Let's take a book as an example. It's words on paper. You may analyse the syntax, the grammar, and reach a conclusion as to how it's structured. But that in a sense falls through when meaning is connoted... Does meaning originate from these structures, or is it some sort of... embodiment of something far more abstract? When I read I am certainly left with that sensation. I can't pinpoint a reason how words on paper often leave me with a certain... wondrous feeling. It certainly isn't something technical like grammar.

The medium most commonly used to illustrate this point is music. There are swathes of high-minded musicologists and academics who can refute that with statistics and graphs. But for someone with no technical knowledge of music, how can I explain what a Beethoven or Mahler symphony does to me? I am left in a certain emotional trance, but it is impossible to attribute concrete meaning... These beautiful sounds can evoke memories, be attributed with similes and metaphorical descriptions... but, without a grasp of its technical rudiments, can you truly describe what it means?

Finally, I want to write about an odd little feeling I experience every now and again... deja vu. When I'm often in certain locations - the Atacama desert, this uni, lecture rooms etc. etc. - I feel that I have seen this once before in a dream... Though I can't be sure because I can't entirely remember the original dream. I'm sure there are psychological explanations for this - that you witnessed a similar landscape elsewhere in the past - but I am left with a queer feeling... that I can't make head or tail of.