lauantai 31. toukokuuta 2014

tiistai 20. toukokuuta 2014

This is what's wrong with the internet.

So, a couple of days ago I stumbled upon a little article titled 'Jesse Eisenberg isn't very nice'. (How do I stumble upon stuff like this?) It was written by someone named Romina Puga who'd interviewed Jesse Eisenberg. During the interview Eisenberg had acted like an inconsiderate jerk to the extent that he'd almost made the interviewer cry.

I don't think there's anything dramatic about the interview itself. Yeah, it is pretty bad and awkward. I think that Jesse Eisenberg is a good guy, but it is obvious that in this case he was an asshole. His behaviour was a joke that he took too far. Being amusingly mean can be really entertaining, but when you realize that the other person isn't getting the joke at all, you should have the decency to stop.

Romina Puga does seem slightly unprofessional, but that's completely understandable. (To another human being, it should be.) She's a young journalist learning to do her job and probably taking it quite seriously, and then somebody practically ridicules her for no apparent reason. If you're simply doing your best not to cry, you probably won't come across very articulate and fascinating.

What's problematic are the comments below the YouTube video. On the internet, we don't want to understand young journalists, even when it's obvious that they're still learning; on the internet, we want to destroy everyone we can. Empathy would be nothing but a killjoy.

For some reason, the internet tends to look like this:

Whiffen writes, "That was probably the worst interviewer I have ever seen in my life. Utter shite. Find a new career.." (74 likes)

Moustachehilarity writes,
"She's genuinely annoying. Hell yeahs Jesse, even if it was for fun you told that bitch what she needed to hear." (44 likes)

smekninga writes, "Hahahahaa, oh God, she is a dumb interviewer, so awkward, she thought Jesse was going to scream Romina at the camera or something like that and she didn't like the fact he didn't, what a dumbass" (19 likes)

Jonathan Urrely writes, "Horrible interviewer, she had this coming." (7 likes)

And then several "fucking bitch"es and "lololo the whore had this comin"s later, the most repulsive of all: someone named MoYoungin writes:

"People are really defending this hipster glasses wearing slut? She's not even a good interviewer, she's just good looking, perfect for being a cum dumpster." (8 likes)

Then MoYoungin goes on about her being a 'cum dumpster' and how he would 'fuck' her even though he finds her personality 'disgusting'. (Why do people like this always assume that everybody on the internet is terribly interested in their sex life?)

For some reason... MoYoungin's on a mission to destroy a person he doesn't know.

He must know that stuff like this destroys people. Especially when they're young and vulnerable and still finding themselves. Why is he doing this? Why is he so full of hatred towards a person he rationally speaking shouldn't have any hatred towards at all?

What drives these people to act like this? Boredom? Illness? Bitterness? Is this what their parents raised them to be? Why are there so many people on the internet so full of obscure pain that they're always ready to collectively bully any victim they can find? (In this case, a lot of the 'criticism' seems to have to do with the fact that Romina Puga is pretty. Being a pretty girl must be hard: everybody's been hurt by a pretty girl once, and you get to suffer for everybody's traumas.)

What are they trying to prove? Is it simply about the fact that all these people are in pain? They're not sure if they themselves will ever be good enough? Somebody somewhere has hurt them, and they're incapable of dealing with their emotions, and the internet is the perfect outlet for the pain and confusion? After all, pain and anger are the same thing.

Is this how we get MoYoungins?

But why is the internet so full of MoYoungins? Is there something about the internet that makes humans show the worst side of humanity? What exactly is this?

I don't know. But I know that I'll never become one of them.

(Fortunately, there's also a few comments like this one: ThisIsErdoS writes:

"Really, we're taking Jesse's side on this? He was a complete twat."

10 likes. Phew. There's still a heart beating amidst this disaster.)

sunnuntai 18. toukokuuta 2014

Son of sorrow

Chess is the only sexy sport, I think.

The worst thing about my genius is that so far, it seems to have come without insanity. Every now and then I think that I must be going crazy, but I never do. My head is painfully clear, for now. This could be an illusion, of course, but I truly believe that I'm completely sane. It's a horrible feeling. Genius without insanity can only mean pain. Clarity hurts. I could use the fog.

I guess I've become an insomniac. It's not that I couldn't sleep if I tried, the problem is that I don't try. I have too much to do.

I've always been strangely uninterested in going to bed, but lately it's been worse than ever. I simply don't sleep. This is destroying me physically and possibly mentally. Now, a weird question: could this have something to do with the fact that James Dean was an insomniac? I've noticed that I sort of STEAL stuff like this from interesting people sometimes; sometimes I adopt certain traits of certain people naturally, without properly realizing what I'm doing.

Why did James Dean look like this?

Because he didn't sleep. I find it very unlikely that I would actually imitate his insomnia, but it's still a slight possibility, and I like it because, wow, isn't that fascinatingly stupid.

I spent a week travelling through Finland. Had to do some research and take some pictures for my book (which, to my surprise, seems to be so amazing that I actually found myself crying reading it). Didn't really sleep. Then I decided to go home and spent 13 hours on a bus. Hopped in at 5 PM, hopped out at 6 AM; I travelled through night inside a dark long-distance bus and there was a HUGE red moon hanging above the lakes and the forests, and it was beautiful, it was so beautiful that I felt that I really had to punch someone, or have sex with someone, or drown, or whatever, I had to do something to handle all that beauty. But there was nothing to do but sit.

Travelling through Finland in 2014 is not as glamorous as travelling through America sixty decades ago, but I guess I make a stupid, lazy version of Jack Kerouac. But I'm a better writer. I also thought about Arthur Rimbaud and I thought that what I'm doing is something much greater than anything he ever did. He didn't make any sense, and that is boring. Never before has a young writer done something even comparable to what I'm doing. I'm telling big stories.

Here we go again. Arrogance is my greatest flaw. But let me have it. I need it. I am disgustingly arrogant, and I know that it must be horribly annoying, but this is me. Take it or leave it. Sometimes I fear that this part of me could destroy everything, ruin my chances. But becoming successful as someone that I'm not... would I want that? Would I?

At least for now, I'm going to hold on to this. After all, my arrogance has been the thing that's kept me breathing and moving for several years. It's helped me. I need to cling to something.

The problem with the world is that bad and stupid people are so confident and arrogant and loud, and good and intelligent people are constantly doubting and belittling themselves. Somebody needs to disturb this balance.

Besides, I know that I'm good. This could be another illusion, but I sincerely think that I'm really, really good at this.

There are individuals that I like a lot, but generally, I don't really care for people. I care about people, they must have rights like all sentient beings and I probably treat them better than most people who claim to love people do. What I'm saying is that I'm not a fan of this species. We have a great tendency to goodness, but the other tendency is something that I absolutely hate. Goodness usually ends up winning, but the situations before that are incredibly painful to watch; people are my least favourite animal.    

The question is: do you want to be the loser who escaped the intolerant little town and saved the world, or do you want to be the intolerant little town?

And if you make art, the question is: if you tell a story of pain, do you actually know how pain feels? Have you felt it, for real? Do you know how fucking much it hurts to hurt? And what about joy? Fear? Loneliness? Bitterness? Disappointment? Love? Are they just words, or have you lived them?

I have a plan:

I will live two lives.

In the first one, I'll write 4 novels: Post Mortem, Flesh, Losers and Folie à deux. I'll write one autobiography. At the same time, I'll do my best to start a revolution within the animal rights movement: I'll give it a solid plan. A direction. I'll do my best to make it something a thousand times more effective than what it currently is. (I'll start a couple of smaller revolutions, too.)

Then: I'll finally be in a position where I can say that I've done all I had to do. The best this one person could do. I'll breathe out and retire and begin a second life. This life will be modest and serene. I will live like an ordinary person. I'll have an unimportant job. I'll have good people around me. I'll live for small things.

There are two reasons.

1: The life I'm now starting is extremely stressful and tiring psychologically. I won't be able to do this if I think that it's going to be a life sentence.

2: It's all about stories. Short ones are prettier.

Thanks. I'll go away now. But I'll return. Apparently, I just can't stay away from this blog completely. Maybe I don't have to. This could work: writing something sometimes.

perjantai 16. toukokuuta 2014

My head is constantly producing amazing ideas; ideas, sentences and solutions that work. It happens automatically. I wonder why this isn't how it is for other people.

You may say I'm a dreamer, but the thing is: I'm not the only one.

maanantai 12. toukokuuta 2014

Conchita wins!

Conchita Wurst looks so much like Ola Salo that she automatically feels like a friend to me.

Still loving Emmelie de Forest. Oh, Emmelie.

Currently existing in Kuopio. Tomorrow Rovaniemi. Then possibly emptiness. I've been working for real, so I have an excuse for writing this post. This will be the last one, I promise, eh.

Ville Valo is possibly the only Finnish person who's managed to do and become something genuinely interesting. And he grew up about two steps from where I live.

I'd be surprised if Softengine became something big. Unlike Ville Valo, they're uninteresting people. Not evil, not unlikeable, just utterly uninteresting. There's usually something unlikeable about people that become something genuinely interesting.

Or maybe it is their uninterestingness that does interest me. To me, it's provocative.

Sent the weirdest text message of my life today (to my sister):

Did you know that Ke$ha's IQ is 140, which is near genius?

It's true by the way. Ke$ha, wow, what a paradox. There must be something wonderfully wrong with her. Still wondering what my IQ is.

PS: Rebekka & Fucking Toijala.

perjantai 2. toukokuuta 2014

And I feel sorry for you.

Do you have anyone that you love?
- Do you have anyone that you love?

I just can't stay away, can I? Jesus Christ, I promise, this will be the last post on here. And then I'll just write my book. I'll write it and start moving forward. Every letter is a small step forward. I have to enter my future. My future will be something extraordinary, and I've spent so many years in this room. I realize that this space around me is my past. And it's about time to get out of here.

I have this fear inside of me, and it's stopping me from writing and moving forward. I'll have to overcome it.

Making sense is so depressing.

I'm completely straight, but I'm completely gay.

Joan (of Arc) Jett Rink.

Why do good people so often turn into people who look like hippies and weirdos, thus assuring that nobody will ever listen to them?

Whenever I'm trying to have a conversation with an unpleasant person on the internet, I always feel like I should just start acting like Harry Potter, and simply say what he says to Voldemort:

You're the weak one.
And you'll never know love, or friendship.
And I feel sorry for you.

But now, I'll take a break from this.

I have to. I have to find the balls to finish this book. I have to kill Voldemort and all the pieces of his soul. Wish me luck.