Thursday, 15 August 2013

the philosophy of Andy Warhol


truth be told i'm not much of a Warhol fan, but halfway through his book The Philosophy of Andy Warhol i'm slowly but surely becoming one.

Being born is like being kidnapped. And then sold into slavery. Page 96, para 1, Popular Penguins.

it was like somebody had read my mind and printed the words out on paper. i think sometime around 9 i began comprehending the meaning of life. why are we born into the world? some people find their purpose in life early, but at 24 i am still flailing around, still taking baby steps - don't talk back to parents. don't talk back to parents. move away from home. make money.

the thing with birth is that we don't have a choice. i think i asked dad the meaning of human existence and he probably said he doesn't know. can't remember clearly.

when i first read Neil Gaiman's American Gods i fell in love with the idea of Nothingness - when one ceases to exist, but doesn't necessarily die. when i express my lack of enthusiasm at life at people, everybody thinks i am suicidal. (actually i am suicidal right now, because i just cleaned the house while my mum stood beside me monitoring and criticising. then she went through my sis' drawers, and when i expressed my shock at that she started nagging me about how much money i spent in Sydney, how all her kids are money vampire-losers, the usual.)

my stance is that i would prefer not to have been born, but now that i am, i am not actively seeking out ways to die. we all die anyway.

shared this with S over lunch at Jogoya, and she'd given me a strange look.

'have you discovered the joys of shopping, clothes and makeup then?' she'd asked.

me: nope

s: well, does life feel more meaningful with shopping, clothes and makeup?

me: yeah.

s: so anytime you have thoughts like that, just think about shopping, clothes and makeup.

end of conversation.

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