Aspiration can be considered a dirty little madam, implying the need for power, wealth and an assortment of grown-up shiny toys to play with. I'm not one of those. I've never really felt the need for a working lightsaber, for example. If I ever need a lightsaber, I'll be quite happy to effect one out of cardboard and paint and foil and I'll just have to accept the derision of the business lads, busy playing Darth Vader on my ass. For example.
My aspirations, then, have tended more towards the abstract, seeking to extricate myself from humble beginnings (ie. thick) through writing things that make money. For certain reasons this has not happened: bad genes, environmental factors and poor quality fortune would all be examples as to why I have not converted aspiration into achievement. Fear of failure. And did I mention laziness? No? How remiss of me.
One area in which I have been terribly remiss, is in the area of 'general knowledge'. If I knew more 'stuff', would it make me more intelligent? I've always considered myself like 'Sherlock Holmes' in this sense. Absolute genius at certain subjects, but ignorant of the content of entire other, possibly important, subjects. Geography, for example. Ask me to point out Estonia on a map, and I'll more likely sarcastically point at a cup or something. The truth, for me, is that I don't actually care. Ignorant, possibly. But I currently have no need for that knowledge. Rest assured if I ever go there, I shall attempt some rudimentary effort to locate it before travel.
In truth, as far as fictional characters go, I am more akin to Gordon Comstock, 'hero' of George Orwell's 'Keep the Aspidistra Flying'. This powerful and moving novel relates the failures of would-be writer Gordon, that most annoying species of writer, the writer who regards and defines himself as a writer, but without actually doing any of the writing, necessary to merit such a description. This unconsummated obsession leads to the rest of his life being compromised and unfulfilled.
I am Gordon Comstock. Nothing to be proud of. As far as fictional characters go, I'd much rather ally myself with Luke Skywalker, or possibly even Jabba the Hut.
A typical fault of the aspirationally unfulfilled is to blame one's background. And one shouldn't do this, should one, as there are plenty of examples of individuals who've succeeded despite their humbleness. Instead, the biggest failing of those pursuing artistic pursuits lies in fault of temperament. Weak wills and a cartoon like showing of non-defiance. This will in turn lead to all other manner of hallmarks of the failed, chief amongst them being the God of all excuses, displacement activity.
Useful to a degree, to feed the artistic sub-conscience, for some, writing is 100 per cent distraction and nothing on the writing effort. Popular displacement activities include tea drinking, bath taking, shopping, housework, re-alphabetising CD collections, making lists of all the things you really need to do (eg. 1. Make lists; 2. Don't make lists, in order to free up some time for proper writing), re-pointing chimney stacks and terminal illness. All acceptable alternatives to the actual business of knuckling down and working.
So where does this leave me, apart from writing a fucking blog? (Not that there's anything wrong with that). Well, I may have aspired towards being among the ranks of the intelligent and creatively fulfilled, but have to accept, now, once and for all, that I have failed. These are not 'my people' and they don't want me.
Instead I must ultimately reconcile myself with the fact that my people are the failures, the freaks and the idiots. Retarded, remedial or just plain thick. The ill-informed. The disabled, the unwashed and the poorly teethed. The criminally inclined. The unlucky, the bemused, the suicidal. The directionless. Lazy, bewildered and dull. The terminally fearful.
I should end my life accepting my place among them and seek solace and companionship with them, leaving behind a trail of burning books and pointless ideas.
If you can think of anything else, do let me know. Did I mention I'm also terribly submissive...?
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