2023.03.11. The autobiography as refuge.
Why does someone write an autobiography? Usually the writer (m/f/x) is known for something, or considers themself known enough to arouse interest in their life among readers. Vanity may be involved, some critics will shout 'narcissist!'. One may have led such an interesting life that humanity is eager to read their memoirs. It can be an act of vengeance, an admission of guilt, a legacy, or an affirmation of a life before it vanishes into oblivion. The writer maybe feels unheard, wants to express themself, and let their voice be heard for anyone who wants to read it.
What is my motivation, you as a reader of course want to know.
It is not always easy to see yourself, especially when you have been through so many difficult things, as in my case. Probably all aspects are present to some extent. I have the feeling that i am only at the very beginning, and that in the course of this project i will naturally fall into pitfalls, walk in all kinds of ditches at the same time and eventually perhaps even sink into this self-dug pit. And that then (but hopefully before that...) i become aware of the mechanisms.
I can already name one reason. Because of my condition, the total of strange symptoms and syndromes, i have become a high-risk group member, and the risk of becoming seriously ill and/or worsening my current illnesses, or also contracting LongCovid, is a game of chance that i would rather not participate in, despite the fact that a large part of society has decided, thanks to / together with the government, that none of that matters anymore. Apparently a large part of the Netherlands thinks that my life is not important, so i have withdrawn as far as possible.
I don't feel like anyone misses me. If you do miss me, let me know.
Because i had been working on Greetings from Klotestad for years, and i wanted to write more about my life, this seemed like the ultimate moment. When almost everyone has abandoned you, all you have left is yourself. And so that's what you get. Myself. Fragments of myself, of my life, a history of my life, edited here and there because I don't want to hurt anyone. Not even if i sometimes want to :-/.
It is a way of being radically candid that i aim for. You can see it as a political act, to make my voice count as a woman, as an autist, an artist, as a person with disabilities, as a person on benefits. Due to all these factors, i have relatively few resources at my disposal, and no access to mainstream media, publishers, art institutions, etc. So this is how i do it.
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2023.06.03. My memories as ratty jammers.
My memories are intrusive stories that demand to be told. Until i write them down, they gnaw at me like ratty jammers, skillfully destroying my peace of mind by storming into my thinking at all times and especially at the wrong time, throwing their noisy odors and colors over everything else, so that i am forced to pay attention.
To get rid of them, i write them here, and burden you with them. With love, by the way, i love you all, and i grant you my golden soul stirrings and would like to offer them to you on an altar encrusted with diamonds, with My Humility before it doubled over to Your Graciousness to have all this. My thanks, of course, are eternal, if i have eternal life; if not, i'll take it all with me in my pout grave. Then let my infinite silence comfort you.
I hope that i will still have many years to be able to share everything with you, for your learning and entertainment.
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