A Crisis in Confidence

Writing, Writers & Their Readers

Afternoon Comrades.

Usually at this time I would be sitting at my desk writing and researching for the coming weeks newsletters but not today.

Whilst not wanting to blow my own exhaustion out of necessary proportion this is the case today. On the one hand you have the seemingly never stopping insanity, or rather absurdity, of existence under capitalism that we all collectively experience - and yes, logically, I have spent the last two hours re-reading my uni notes on the comparative discourse between existentialism/absurdism and marxism with no real insight other than understanding that I need a break. I am specifically talking about the ever increasing slope into 21st techno-feudalism that makes Judge Dredd look laughable whilst still being faced with the reality of starving if one does not go to work.

Speaking of which, and this is one of the reasons for this dispatch today - after the most absurd spectacle of this year so far, by that I mean the coronation of the English robber baron Charles to King yesterday- again, what Century do we live in?? - I spent a good portion of this morning working a catering job for a Baptism - that was positively and solely focused on Germans celebrating said Coronation and cosplaying as Royal Subjects - absolutely bizarre to say the least but the net result of this, as well as the fact that the last few weeks of work, again, in addition the increasing absurdity of reality, have led to the usual crisis in confidence that writers get.

Funny that.

It is absolutely not a writers block - on the contrary - it is rather a question of what the purpose of writing is. There are more sides to this question than a Dungeon & Dragon dice but let’s start here:

In the face of, well, “everything” where do you start? What is the point of writing and more specifically, what is the point of this here newsletter? As tempting as it is, I would love to scream all of my brain farts, pointless reactionary behaviour in the face of the omnipresent power of the powerful into the void, and I guess that is what twitter is for, but it is something I have tried to avoid here. Increasingly, I have tried to use this space to provide some sort of framework I guess, to help and navigate this absurdity, give purpose or at the very least an entry point to purpose - and then you get to a point like today when you ask yourself, how often to scream into said void that, yeah, duh, capitalism - the inherent reality created by the concept of ownership and property - are at the root of all evil - when the entire British Ruling Class got together yesterday in some absurd Games of Thrones Cosplaying Ritual whilst the rest of the country and world is set in flames. To call this a conflict in reality, especially as a writer is understating today’s brain warp.

Coming back to my immediate reality, I am sitting at my desk, trying to blow the cobwebs of exhaustion away to actually put something worthwhile down for everyone here and I have equally got nothing I feel is worth your time and equally way too many drafts open that do not touch on the immediate reality and how to overcome them.

These times do create this odd, relatively modern reflex to ask the readers what they want but even that I struggle with. There is an odd symbiotic relationship between the reader and writer and I know, that admitting this crisis in confidence, because that is what makes art, art, very often, having both the time and confidence to make it happen - is an odd sidestep in this relationship but here we are - I can, and most likely will send out a deep dive into the relationship between existentialism, absurdism and marxism in the face of our collective experience of bullshit this week and at the same time send out a a deep dive into early German Industrial Music because why the fuck not?

I often get stuck here believing that every opportunity I get to write to and for you needs to serve this deeper, political, material reality when truthfully I really need to learn to step back a little and look after myself. I haven’t hit the gym in 2 weeks because of this severe back pain, stress etc from trying to open a new restaurant whilst running one at the same time, and equally wanting to provide something worth your time here also - without repeating myself. Again, its an odd relationship and reality to find myself in and for the sake of transparency I wanted to share this with you. For all the bluster, clarity and intent this here writing so often loudly proclaims I am just some 45 year old dude trying to navigate reality without giving into it all. More often than not, it works and that translates into the last three years here and on a larger scale, I guess the last 20 years of “art” - but on days like this, or rather times like this, well, shit is not so clear, the intent and conviction of purpose aren’t either, but here we are. Rather than drawing some silly little doodles to occupy your time on social media here is a little dip into my reality on this side of the screen.

I need to cook my food prep for this week and hang up the laundry.

Thanks for being here and listening.

This is a good time to write back and say, hey man, write about this etc etc.

Smooches.

V.