#they are so abnormal abhorrent unbearable

[forlorngarden]

bllb is fucking up my brain in the best possible way

[eeeminor]

i don't think we were supposed to make it this far in our evolution. we are the only creatures we know of that are as uniquely repulsive as we are. humans are cursed with the ego, some strange sensation that makes us unbearably self-aware and free to think and do as we please, using only our own minds and desires to dictate how we live our lives. all other biological creatures follow some sort of order of survival and biological structure, and it's inherent to their existence, it comes seemingly without question; but not humans. humans build these monumental yet trivial obstacles and social constructs, manipulate each other and information to gain control, pleasure, wealth, validation of the self, and so on. we kill each other under the names of flags that represent invisible dotted lines that perforate land that we claim to own, or because we are so convinced that our own ideas of "right and wrong" rule as objective truth. we mistreat and use and abuse each other for no just reason. we sell our labor and our time to pay for our right to exist in a world that is mad, and is only getting more maddening as time goes on; a world that was here long before us, and will possibly be here long after we are gone. we slave and strain emotionally over sentimental friendships, relationships, professions, goals and self-defined courses of life despite the fact that we will all be dead in the end, all to distract ourselves from the absurdity and meaninglessness of this existence. i think that's how many aspects of our life, like religion and culture, develop. some kind of distraction or way to justify that we are here for some greater purpose, or celebrate an existence that we will never understand. i think our existence is an accident, some sort of mistake; a fluke, a freak happening that was not supposed to happen, a chaotic hiccup that the universe spat out for some ungodly reason. the human condition is an abhorrent abnormality, an ongoing joke that has no punchline.

[tomatomagazine]

Meditations on First Idolatry: Why We Overdose On Love

By Polden Grey

I have an instinctive urge to answer the question “What is love?” with a line from a famous song, but more often than not, I find myself earnestly pondering the question. This nocturnal reflection, therefore, will serve as an accretion of thoughts on Romanticism and the Human Condition. We will travel through time, look at how love is depicted in “The Myth of Pygmalion and Galatea” in the ancient world, proceed to Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique (1830) and arrive at Martin Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver” (1976). Love is a narcotic, and it is often too easy to overdose.


Have we truly changed how we love? The social dynamics of love are still dictated by ideas set forth by Romanticism; 18th century ideals that drastically changed how we perceive love, sex, work and life in general. Our love lives are influenced by Romanticism to a point where it is difficult to take a step back and rethink what it means to love. We are minions set out to find our soulmates, and we are told that when we find “the one,” we will understand the meaning of life, and all our problems will be solved. However, if we happen to fail, a sad lonely life full of suffering awaits us. This forced pursuit of happiness gives rise to what we will call the “Galatea Effect”. Ancient Greek mythology tells the story of Pygmalion, a sculptor who set out to carve the perfect statue. He worked day and night, almost in a state of frenzy. To his surprise, when the statue was finished, he found himself beholding the most beautiful creation he had ever seen. He fell desperately in love with a statue that was so real to him, yet could in no way requite his love. He was filled with unbearable pain. In the myth, Aphrodite, the goddess of love, could not ignore Pygmalion’s pure devotion and took pity on him. One day, as Pygmalion came home, he hopelessly touched Galatea’s hand and felt a warmth he had never felt before. Her hand grabbed his; their lips touched. She, and therefore all his projected ideals, were given life. 
    

In the real world, however, there is no divine intervention. The universe is indifferent to such trivialities. It is fairly easy to see that in our era, Pygmalion would be just another deranged man. There are many Pygmalions out there who try to project qualities they find desirable or relatable on to their love interests, whether these are accurate or not. There is a need to find a soulmate as soon as possible, or they will be forever incomplete. That is when the “Galatea effect” kicks in and they begin to force their love story as one would desperately carve the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle to fit. They look back at Romantic literature, and keep the stories and ballads close to heart. There is a strong urge to recreate what they have read and heard. They cannot quite understand why they are so strongly attracted to their person of interest, but their pursuit and suffering feels justified. Every line, every gesture from their beloved is framed in their mind. Their hearts ache and affection grows stronger, just as Pygmalion’s did as he toiled to create an artificial representation of his love. Romantic literature and songs tell them that love always finds a way. 

Then reality hits them hard. The beloved does not requite their love. They cannot wrap their heads around it. Soon many questions flood their brain. One unanswerable query after another, and the feeling of anger and frustration seeps in. Finally, like many of their Romantic heroes, they resort to extreme measures. This three-phase pattern of projection, rejection and cathartic violence is found frequently in Romantic narratives and constitute what we call the “Galatea Effect.”    

Now we will look at the Galatea Effect in two works that are strikingly similar in ways that they depict the matters of heart. The works featured will be Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique (1830) and Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver” (1976). This back-and-forth comparison will shine light on the glorification of obsessive behavior in Romanticism.     

First movement of Symphonie Fantastique,  named “Reveries – Passions”, opens with a slow introduction quite similar to the sonata form in pieces from the Classical Era. The veiled strings in the introduction echo the operatic lament of a lonely man, a “young musician, afflicted by the sickness of spirit,” as described by Berlioz himself. The laments are brought to an abrupt end, followed swiftly by a haunting memory of the beloved in the form of a musical motif called idée fixe. This forty bar representation of the beloved will reappear throughout the symphony, all the while undergoing alterations in instrumentation, rhythm, meter, and tempo. A continuously rising phrase reveals an ardent yearning for the beloved. Later on, the motif, much like his hope, dies out with falling intervals. The last bars of the movement, the coda, are marked Religiosamente, and consists of “Amen” cadences, voicing the spiritual calm before the storm.   

Paralleling this descent-into-hell narrative is the story of Travis Bickle in “Taxi Driver.” In the opening scene of the movie, the camera locks on to the paranoid eyes of “God’s lonely man” overlooking urban isolation. Very much like Symphonie Fantastique’s first movement, with its unequal phrases that focus more on expression than structure, the ever-moving camera and the off-center framing gives a subtle hint at looming emotional instability. A misanthrope, Travis is ironically obsessed with relationships, convinced that it will fill the existential void in his life. This is the premise of Romanticism, the promise of ultimate truth and happiness. So it is no surprise when Travis, in a menacingly sluggish voice reminisces the first time he saw his Galatea: “I first saw her at Palantine Campaign headquarters at 63rd and Broadway. She was wearing a white dress. She appeared like an angel. Out of this filthy mess, she is alone. They...cannot...touch...her.” Now he has someone on which to project his own loneliness. Like many victims of limerence, he is unable to fathom that she may never requite his interest, no matter how many times he calls or how many roses he sends.     

The second movement of Symphonie Fantastique, “A Ball,” depicts the musician being content during a waltz, but some bars in, we hear the iconic idée fixe,  which is now in triple meter and accompanied by the waltz. He has seen the beloved once more in the ball, and now the ingenious tremolo strings in the background speak of a man trembling at the presence of the beloved. One can imagine her slowly fading back into the crowd, and the waltz goes on, After a while, he sees her again. The reiteration of idée fixe is unaccompanied, as if time has slowed down. With a sudden outburst of the orchestra, the waltz snaps back fortissimo risoluto and she disappears once more into the crowd.   

The third movement, “Scene in the Countryside,” opens with the musician observing a conversation between two shepherds in the background of a sleepy meadow. The introduction starts with a call from the English Horn and an answer from the off-stage oboe in the distance. Vestiges of idée fixe surface from the flute and oboe with altered basses. Not even this calm scenery can stop his mind from racing to her. As time passes, the ascending phrases from idée fixe are accompanied by increasingly unsettling falling scales. The memory of her is now tainted with anger and confusion. The outro has the horn call the oboe again, but this time only thunder is heard. The English Horn tries calling one more time,  and the sound produced from the four timpanies create yet another formidable thunder. He calls her many times, but to no avail. He spent almost three movements carving out the ideal soulmate, just to find that his devotion has fallen on deaf ears.     

In “Taxi Driver,” Travis decides to don a red velvet coat and go see his beloved, Betsy, in person. He rushes into her office. When he asks her out for coffee and pie, she asks about his intentions. “I think you're a lonely person. I drive by this place a lot and I see you here. I see a lot of people around you. And I see all these phones and all this stuff on your desk. It means nothing. Then when I came inside and I met you, I saw in your eyes and I saw the way you carried yourself that you're not a happy person. And I think you need something.” Travis replies, again not realizing that loneliness, confusion and unhappiness are projected qualities that belong to him. She coyly accepts the invitation. Just like the beginning of the third movement (English Horn and oboe), the audience can feel an authentic connection between Travis and Betsy forming. It is not long before he comes up with the idea of taking her to an adult theater for their date. This will be the last time they are together as she walks out of the theater in disgust and takes a cab home. Initially, this may come off as a crude sexual innuendo, but if you pay attention to Travis’s earlier visit to the theater, his facial expression is one of melancholic curiosity and not arousal. He truly believed it when he pleaded with Betsy that “all kinds of couples go here.” He was genuinely confused by the negative outcome. Feeling no sexual desire for Betsy, he synthesizes sexual tension by going to the adult theater. In an attempt to appear normal, he became abhorrently abnormal.       

A day after the incident, he tries calling Betsy, the conversation’s awkwardness is heightened as the camera slowly pans away from Travis and shows us the narrow hallway that leads to a dark alley. Sparing the audience from having to witness his struggle. “I tried several times to call her, but after the first call, she wouldn't come to the phone any longer. I also sent flowers but with no luck. The smell of the flowers only made me sicker. The headaches got worse.” He remembers the rejection, almost mirroring the English Horn-Timpani exchange at the end of  Symphonie Fantastique’s third movement. “I realize now how much she's just like the others - cold and distant, and many people are like that.” We hear Travis’ voice while we watch him burn the flowers he bought for her in the sink. Despite his relentless efforts, he now has to deal with the full weight of being rejected. “I really, you know, I really wanna, I got some bad ideas in my head, I just…”  he warns of an imminent eruption of repressed desires.     

The fourth movement of Symphonie Fantastique, “March to the Scaffold,” opens with a fearsome environment where the musician tries to commit suicide by overdosing on opium. Instead of dying, however, his mind sinks into a nightmarish world as he imagines an angry crowd carrying him to the scaffold for the murder of his beloved.  The feeble and innocent idée fixe appears for the last time in its unadulterated form during the coda, letting us know that the musician is still thinking of the beloved. The orchestra suddenly surges, and the guillotine blade falls, decapitating the musician. A repeating chord is played triumphantly as the crowd cheers at this scene of violence.     

Final movement, “Dream of a Witches' Sabbath”, places the protagonist yet again in an ominous environment. Berlioz creates a believable demonic atmosphere through dynamic variations and a host of instrumental effects. Out of darkness the screeching laughter of the trombone taunts the musician and fades away. Idée fixe resurfaces, but something is not right. The motif is now played vexingly, giving a vulgar representation of the beloved.  Bells are tolled and Dies Irae, the Gregorian chant of death is heard. The musician can be faintly heard screaming in agony, diabolical excitement churns in the orchestra as it victoriously plays the finishing major chord. Thus, delivering the long awaited coup de grâce to the musician.

It is a strange conclusion that has always puzzled me. Why the joyous ending? Did he wake up from the opium induced nightmare? Is his death or insanity the ultimate display of love? Are we to sympathize with him, and celebrate his martyrdom? “Loneliness has followed me my whole life. Everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man. June 8th. My life has taken another turn again. The days can go on with regularity over and over, one day indistinguishable from the next. A long continuous chain. Then suddenly, there is a change.” Travis narrates over a shot of him once again devoured in the dark demonic streets of New York. He continues to surround himself with criminals and sets out to buy a .44 Magnum. Similar to the musician’s case, suicidal tendencies are visible, yet Travis wants his death to be more meaningful; he wants to become a martyr. “All my life needed was a sense of someplace to go.” Now the only way he can satiate that need is through death. Marking his entrance to the “cathartic violence” phase.    

In the second half of the movie, we see his obsession shift from Betsy to Iris, a young prostitute. We see another restaurant scene with Iris mirroring the one Travis had earlier with Betsy, but now his charm is replaced with disillusionment. He tells her that she is too young to be doing what she is doing, that she needs to go back to her parents. Iris does not take this well. “So what makes you so high and mighty. Will you tell me that? Didn't you ever try lookin' in your own eyeballs in the mirror?” 

After much paranoid preparation and rocking the ritualistic mohawk, he goes out to the devil’s lair where Iris works. He guns down her pimp, and proceeds to brutally murder the child molesters, criminals, “fuckers” and “screwheads”. He executes Iris’s client in front of her eye and she screams as the blood spatters on the wall. He then proceeds to shoot himself in the head, but no bullets remain. He falls on the sofa as police storm the place, and greets them with a murderous grin. With his blood soaked hand he makes an imaginary gun and puts it against his head, pulling the trigger three times. During final scenes we see that Travis has recovered and hailed as a hero. He has returned to being a taxi driver, and the last customer we see is none but the elusive Betsy. “How much was it?” she asks, and Travis grins and drives away. Camera moves to the high contrast New York streets, much like the beginning of the movie. The imagery eerily speeds up as Travis adjusts the front mirror to look in his own eyeballs. Credits roll.   

 These stories are more than a century apart, however, the love dynamic is almost identical. There is a reason we relate to these characters, and there is a reason that a phenomenon like “Galatea effect” is so prevalent in our modern lives. We have experienced it first hand, know someone close who has, or worse, were in the position of rejecting someone. Open the radio, and listen to a recent trending song. You are likely to hear a work heavily influenced by Romantic ideas. The narratives are reinforced over and over again, inviting us to reenact them. This urge to participate is so strong that listeners find it a cause for celebration when they can finally, truly connect with such songs. We built upon what we've established so far to  make one last point: 

Romanticism is a dated frame of reference that continues to influence popular culture. It is based on the music, poetry, and essays of key figures who were nearly exclusively male. Romanticism persists to define our current societal notion of expectations for love. Men are encouraged through popular culture to fall obsessively in love and relish in the pain of rejection. Women are offered up as targets for this obsessive love, and labeled derogatorily if they spurn a suitor. Popular culture is based on love stories from 18th century male viewpoints that alienate the female perspective. We need a new notion of love fit for this century where suitors are not encouraged to fall into unhealthy obsession, and the people on the other side can feel free to reject without fear of repercussion. When we reflect on love a century from now, may we be able to draw upon contemporary works that promote a healthy, inclusive perspective on love.  Romanticism stopped being truly romantic a long time ago. A new chapter on love is waiting to be written by the thinkers of tomorrow.