oppose memoirism to the death!

There is a great evil threatening our civilisation and that is memoirism. The memoirists are the enemy of truth, imagination, intellect and above all memory. Memory frees. There are getting to be more and more.

Some one ought to do something about them.

Everything in life fails and that is its beauty. Everything fails, that is, except for the spirit to live. For the memoirist there is no failure and there is no spirit. There is only the absolute uniqueness of their ordinary self illuminated to death by their infinite, visionary common sense.

How is the memoirist formed? He is formed by failure taken badly, especially by that experienced in the cradle. It is not that wonderful mixture of fruity foolishness and ruthless boiling and crushing that makes life’s liquor for the memoirist. What makes sense only is that life itself that has failed the memoirist. It has failed to recognize the absolute value in their particular banality and the sparkle of their own ordinary experience. The memoirist began the writing of memoirs at the time he began to speak and momma didn’t listen. His mission was confirmed when some fool did. The determination intensified when that fool turned away.

Poetry, ha! A dead art says the memoirist. I gave it up myself in college. Radical change? Nonsense, says the memoirist. I have never changed and look where I am today. Why should anyone else bother? And I’ve been proven right haven’t I? You should have listened. If you didn’t I will tell you again.

The memoirist doesn’t want anyone to actually be anything in particular. Anything that is that is not a consumer and admirer of his memoirism. Are you Moslem, ha! We had a few in my home town and they behaved properly let me tell you. They behaved like my friends. Let me tell you about Mohammed, no better yet, I’ll tell you about our blacks. Were you tortured by desert bandits who only stopped because the sheep they were cooking caught fire? Ha. I cook mutton at home all the time and it never catches fire. Is he a painter? Ha. What an idiot. Everyone watches tv. A radical? Ha, I wouldn’t waste my time on that! We don’t do things like that around here.

The giants I knew, says the memoirist, are elevated by my familiarity.

The places I have been are monuments since defiled.

The memoirist often says ‘everybody knows’ where nobody knows but he then goes on to make clear that only he knows and if you are saying the same thing he knew first.

The memoirist recommends his failures to everyone as understandable, excusable ultimately glorious and necessary successes. But they shouldn’t try it. It wouldn’t be the same.

The memoirist is the enemy of ego. No-one should have one. They should organise their self on the basis of his memoirs. As for superego, forget it. No need. And if anyone wants to do a few riffs with narcisstic personality disorder, forget that too. That has already been taken. There is only one allowed at a time.

What do you call two memoirists? A historical époque.

A memoirist as a leader initiates a hunt for dissidents, especially those who saw those real mistakes made in real time with perspective.

A memoirist as a lover says ‘there you go again’ and becomes the horned beast.

Do you have a memoirist inside yourself? Ask yourself this: when was life perfect? Or to say the same thing another way, when did it stop and lose a dimension? Or when did my martyrdom begin? When was my memory thwarted? When am I not believed!

Ask yourself, what was the original sin? No really, the real one. Was it the one done to you? What are the real commandments? Thou shalt not err in human ways against my mind? Who were the real myths? Forget Olympus. Was it those you believe you bested? Where is paradise? Is it where you believe you rule? Where the smell of your sanctified thought dominates?

Some bloody café where the five customers know your name? Some ill-attended meeting with one speaker?

The memoirist achieves immortality. And he does this without much suffering. The rest of us achieve death by accepting dismemberment.

How is the immortality of the memoirist assured? Through the reduction of creation and the diminishing of the laws of the universe. By the avoidance of irony, story and song.

There are other words for memoirist. It can be pragmatist, citizen, comrade, professor, even just a clever guy.

But Memoirism is a ferocious journey backward into the night. The memoirist is actually that creature before human thought comes. It is the voice of the dying DNA.

That creature remains the same throughout evolution. It is hairy and stupid. Its purpose is to induce flight so it can flee. Its defence is projectile memoirs. It growls, it farts, it shoots ink, it stinks and hurls from its cage dead bits of self.

Do you know a memoirist? Is there one in your neighbourhood? Someone ought to do something.