Reflections on Self, Sadness and Incomplete Independence

The writing of autobiography requires the fearless acknowledgment and admission of one’s whole self. No stone should be left unturned, lest the work be incomplete or dishonest. One must uncover and expose the effects as well as the causes. One must empty the pockets. One must air the dirty laundry. One must dig, dig, dig. One must identify and categorize and come to conclusions. One must contextualize. One must compare and contrast. One must find meaning. One must be convinced that someone may give a damn about what one has found. One must have a lot of free time. One must be thorough and disciplined. One must have a sense of self-worth.

My journey began with identification. Identification became angle. Angle became lens. Lens became context. Context became content. Content became a category. Category became identity. Identity became angle. Angle became lens, etc. etc. etc. My research had exposed me to a wealth of autobiographical work by artists, performers, and writers who were able to find value in the results of their soul pap smear. The work I’d studied was elevated from this stale frame of identity and angle by virtue of meeting all of those aforementioned requirements.

The writing of autobiography requires the fearless acknowledgement and admission of one’s whole self, even if that whole self is a pair of volatile poles. The causes are the effects are the causes. The laundry may be clean, but it will be dirty again. Identification is unstable and water-soluble. Conclusions are never conclusive. Context is relative. Meaning is depressing. Someone will always give a damn. Free time has to come when it’s ready. Discipline cannot be dictated. Self-worth does not gain interest.