Oblivion

This weekend I let someone take pictures of me. Having been told my entire life to 'not look so miserable,' most pictures of me and other people result in my face being stretched into a ridiculous Chesire Cat sort of smile. Everyone knows it's fake, but most people keep their own mouths shut about it, as they realize the fabrication is more a result of effort on my part, than deception. This weekend, I was told to "be myself," to not smile if it wasn't in the cards. That was some mighty ironic foreshadowing, because I feel smiling is beyond my current capabilities.

My name, "Aletha" means 'truth.' In Dante's Inferno, Aligeri's character travels to Hell where he comes upon seven rivers. The final and most elusive river is called "Lethe," a river which to drink from means everything and nothing at the same time. Drinking from this river, every personal truth is revealed. One single drop upon one's tongue means to know oneself, and blissful or otherwise, the truth will make you complacent since Man's ultimate desire has always been the quest for knowledge or happiness—but maybe these two are more closely connected than we—the collective, naïve, isolated mass of beating hearts and throbbing minds—think.

So, for one terrifying and beautiful moment, like a nifty magic trick, all is revealed. The smoke dissipates. The mirrors are cracked and crumble away. They fall to the dirt in tiny piles of finely ground dust. And for a whole minute, there is no need to be paranoid or suspicious. The burden of having to wonder is lifted, and maybe for the first time ever you can accept your sadness or your happiness as genuine and not just as a part of a series of convenient escapes. Sixty seconds go by…And then, just as easily as it came, everything is lost, for Lethe is the river of Oblivion. Lethe is beautiful and fascinating but highly forgettable. No one ever regrets forgetting Lethe or having taken that first little sip because they will never think of it again. As for Lethe, it remains in the Underworld, stationary, willing to share the little it can offer, but ancient and oh so tired with the life-burdens of countless bright-light seekers who have visited and rested by its shores, searched for meaning in its reflective surfaces, and then, having drunk their fill, calmly wandered off to Death, unaware of the second chance their new lives will offer them. They are without memory, veritable tableau rasos (blank slates).

Can Lethe really reflect? I don't know. It may have its more lucid moments…I imagine that like a pair of wide, dead eyes, a traveler of the depths might search steadfastly for that entire minute, trying to see inside, to find a source for the new feelings of overwhelming captivation and confusion. But, only able to catch a mirror image, the traveler gives up after that moment and decides to concentrate on himself…Just looking out for number one, Doll, and ain't I fine? … Narcissus did the same thing to Echo and I'm sure it's happening to some forgettable soul as we speak, as it will for time immemorium.

So, click flash, I stopped smiling my silly cattish smile. I gazed into the lens. I made eye contact. I let him search my face for traces of life. I told him that my only philosophy to existence (or otherwise) is that everything rots and revives. I wanted to tell him the story of Lethe. ..Instead, I drank some gin and muttered something about how I wanted a tattoo of the words "Entropy" and "Optimism" because they're the only things that make sense to me.

I cannot—should not—connect with people. Once I do, it's all over—and when I don't for this same reason (I learn from experience), it's generally over anyways—I guess I must have very few purposes. I have never had anything genuine in my life and have never expected to (as I don't feel I have ever particularly deserved it), but hardened to disappointment or not, my feelings are constantly being very hurt. The waters at Lethe always maintain the same depths despite innumerable visitors. Likewise, I have no desire to shed tears for strangers as appealing as they might have been. I have never wanted anything from anyone, so I am disgusted with myself for being so trusting. It won't happen again. I really ought to know by now that like me, other people are pretenders too. Sometimes it is the only way to even be in the same room as another person. When I don't lie, I am too revealing—which is the worst, most scary thing of all for one such as myself. Peel away the layers, guy, you'll find onions don't make me cry…

One of the worst feelings is that I may have caused unhappiness to someone else. That is something I may only reserve for yours truly. I sincerely hope it works out for those directly involved in this situation which I shouldn't even be a part of. At the subway station in Seoul I started to feel very depressed. I lied and said I was hungover. I cursed myself for having spoken at all about myself, for having stepped beyond the looking glass for a moment, when it's undeniably so much safer and warmer in my own fucking head. I hope I manage to find my way back soon. It's far too harsh out here. I shouldn't have stopped taking my pills this week. It was a stupid idea. I just wanted to not need to rely on what feels like pretence. But I guess if that's what the world needs to spin, why should I be special? I've been having some more than unpleasant thoughts the last few days. My old counsellor from university emailed me to check on how things are going here in Korea, I forwarded her this blog. I wonder if she is concerned…

I went to Dongdaemoon this weekend and bought some praying hands on a hinge that open up to reveal beautiful and intricately hand carved Buddha statuettes. It's lovely and I'm going to stare at it tonight while I damage my lugs and heart and should the taste prove too foul, perhaps my arms, with my Raison Blues, my current raison d'etre.

I need some sensory deprivation. I wish I had a bathtub so I could sit in the dark in body temperature water and simulate the womb or something. The 'mother' would be shocked at my desire to have any wish to retreat into her, but it's really more the hiding that I find so appealing because no one will come looking—why would they?

This weekend was frigid. With one exception, cabs wouldn't pick us up. We called the driver 'Joe' and his seats were leopard print. His English was decent and he wore a flamboyantly yellow shirt and a black vest. We taught him to swear in English and I don't think I've ever been so elated to hear someone use the word 'fuck' in my life. There was something just really cool about this guy and for 6000won and a 20 minute cab ride, the price was right. There are apparently no bars in Dongdaemoon or Jung-no 5. There were no tours going on at the Buddhist temple either, but it was beautiful nonetheless. I took pictures, of course, but who knows if I'll want to keep them once they're developed. No regret, just more sadness. Eyes a little less bright.