Despite the various forays I have been making down Memory Lane, it somehow feels like, rather than opening old wounds (for much of what I have recalled has long since past) but rather like discovering old scars beneath fresh bruises. I cannot deny who I am but sometimes it feels like that past was in a different or previous life to the one which, at times I struggle through, now. Despite now being in my thirties (some would say 'late thirties' - eek), my life still seem to be, more often than not, in a state of flux and turmoil. Twenty years ago I was at college; a rather morose, moody individual with terrible eczema on his feet that made it difficult to walk, who would listen to R.E.M., and was reading André Gide's La porte étroite and Albert Camus' L'etranger and La peste (a vile book which no troubled teenager should be inflicted with, being SO depressing). Ten years ago, I was more confident, yet on anti-depressants and travelling around Europe and the United States interviewing film directors and actors, actresses and technicians for a mixed bag in terms of quality European low budget horror movies dating from the 70's and 80's as well as for an abandoned book project on an Italian film director, Lucio Fulci. I was mainly listening to Blur, The Dead Can Dance and Tibetan horns and Georgian table songs. In terms of reading I was reading Dennis Wheatley, Italian film writers Antonio Bruschini (RIP) and Antonio Tentori, and about all sorts of esoteric matters.
And now...
Well now I am a civil servant cum writer. No longer on the anti depressants yet not always coping especially well with life and all it chucks at me, like a child throwing mudpies at a moving target. Quietly confident in certain areas of life, yet still rather shy. Listening to the Tallis Scholars, Tori Amos, Bat for Lashes and Sister Marie Keyrouz. I also do still listen to Blur, to The Dead Can Dance, Tibetan Horn and R.E.M. and more besides. My scope of reading has magnified in terms of fact and fiction, and I read both in English and in French regularly. Lots of history, Jungian psychology, mediaeval texts (most recently the mystery plays) and nouvelle generation fiction.
When reading these three brief descriptions of me; it seems, from an outside view, that this person is a somewhat fickle beast, in some ways there are constants, and in others each decade has made the previous incarnation a long and distant memory and that I am still trying to form myself and my identity. I suppose this concept of who I am would mainly arise from still having a vast lack of stability in my life, be it in the form of relationship, base, passion or consistant interest. In certain ways, I suppose, that I want to disown my previous 'incarnation' and with the blind faith and hope that this mercurial temporment that seems to invade my being will at long last find equilibrium, stability, peace. Ten years ago I was described in an article in the Guardian as being a 'film historian'; these days I rarely watch a DVD a month. I see people around me who would appear to have more constants in their lives - Mike with his love for black t-shirts, horror movies and death metal bands (like Slayer and Celtic Frost), Fred with his endless passion for cinema, etc. I suppose that I turned my back on film for many years and it was only when I met the likes of Adam and Amicus (their real names, not Jungian pseudonyms) that I started talking about these movies and the people I had met once again. Yet, I suppose, in a certain way, I do not really desire connection with being the man who worked (jointly or otherwise) on those extras. Mike now basks in the limelight and the glory of those days although at the time it was redominantly me who did the detective work or spoke to agents (and spoke the languages) and contacted the people. At first, reading of Mike's subsequent life in this field used to make me feel annoyed, bitter, for all the pundits which he was recieving but ultimately I was happy for him He is surrounded by his friends (people I generally do not feel I could truy connect with - unable as I am to enjoy death metal, wear black t-shirts, find tattoos attractive and 'awesome', and appreciative of nonsensical, sanguine horror films).
Each time I keep hoping that someone will see me anew, and not for who I was. Yet who I was is who I am, no matter how many masks I wear or how much change I seek to make. I just hope that people liked and better still, loved, me for who I was then and will still want me now. Despite the different facets I have in my everchanging, ever evolving personality. Maybe one day, when truly happy, when there is a syzygy of the anima, the animus - within my soul will I be truly happy. I feel I miss that connection for I have only tapped into it upon occasion. I feel I have it when things are new, fresh, yet invariably, but not always, does it turn to disappointment, disillusionment yet I still grin and bear it.
Like minded souls apply here please.
So where am I now? The answer is that I simply do not know. I feel a life with rather too many regrets, and with elements of uncertainty ahead and a need for stability. Equally so however, I see some one who enjoys learning, growing and is continually inspired. Hopefully who also appreciates and loves beauty, talent, and is valued by those who are true friends. Sometimes, despite the crowding up of my mind with facts, it feels like a somewhat vapid existance, bereft of emotion, connection, and true happiness. An inner longing, a need to be appreciated, valued, understood and to be able to share that spark, as well as those passions, enthusiasms, interests on a regular basis rather than occsional flashes in the pan that lift life above the truly mundane.
Here's hoping...
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