I made the choice to no longer make choices.  I’m aware of it being a contradiction—similar to trying to will yourself not to will, or to a dog chasing its own tail.   It’s a failed endeavor from the start, but in these Kafkaesque times (which I’m coining as such because of our AWARENESS that we’re living in a matrix of constructed reality coupled with our apparent inabilty to change this fact) failure is no longer reason enough not to do something—in fact, a truly post-post modern artist seeks out failure on a grand scale.

I don’t mean a petty failure, such as never bothering to try—but the kind on the scale of betting the farm—a fantastic, extravagant crash and burn—like a start-up that declares bankruptcy a few short months after being bank-rolled for zillions as being the brains behind the next big thing.  I’m talking the kind of failure you can only make when you work your ass off for something.  Olympic failure—on the level of preparing for years for something that takes you mere seconds to blow.

When yr afraid of being laughed at or called a fool, you start holding back.  You get scared of failure, instead of learning to embrace it as part of the process—part of life. The strange corrosive power of such a tiny yet powerful fear is entirely made-up—this doesn’t stop us, however, from living our lives around our harbouring of it.  Again, this is very Kafkaesque—our overly self-conscious lives are exemplerary of his short piece, The Tormenting Demon.

Just because something doesnt exist doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

The idea of failure and fate have much in common:  neither exists but both are very real—as real as the ever fleeting present, and as real as a future that is constantly in flux.  Nothing is definite—nothing is set in stone—by embracing your fate or your failure—by choosing not to choose and going with the flow of your life, you undermine any power that either possiblity once had—destroying it at the same time that you affirm its reality.

It is in this way that we make our own fate—a task as tricky and ultimately empowering as giving a message to your father to deliver to your mother during a moment in the past when you don’t yet exist:

“No fate?” No fate but what we make. My father told her this. I made him memorize it in the future as a message to her… Never mind. The whole thing goes, ‘The future’s not set. There’s no fate but what we make for ourselves.’ —John Connor discussing his mother, Sarah Connor, in Terminator 2, Judgment Day

I’m a writer, DJ, philosopher and T-shirt maker living in NYC. A nerd of the new golden age. I became interested in the telepathic web back in the blog hey day of 02, when I started BRANDTRUEBOY by pretending to be three fictional people, who blogged together on a team blog under the auspices of working on art various art projects but were really more interested in falling in and out of love with one another.  A love triangle was formed, with the lesbian ex-junkie Sterling Fassbinder in love with TRUEBOY, a sexually ambivalent young woman who used to be (and possibly still is) in love with Fitzcarraldo who is a tall, rich gay dilletente who scoffs at the idea of love.  The three posted as “real” people—leaving comments on each other’s posts and responding to the comments of others.  They had Gmail accounts that each began receiving a steady stream of mail.  I was amazed by how many people thought they were real.  I began to wonder how far I could take it.  Something told me that the more outrageous I became, the more believable the blog would be—as long as I wrote about it in a believable way.

I hate that she gets no respect cuz Courtney Love dropped the killer guiding insight back on “Live Through This”:  I had to fake it so real I was beyond fake.