notes from underground

To begin, I have completely ripped of the title of my blog from one of Dostoevsky’s books entitled Notes From Underground.  I haven’t read the book for a while but it begins: “I am a sick man…I am a wicked man.  An unattractive man.”  And the adventures of our anti-hero end with him breaking down in front of a prostitute he had conversed with during the book, in tears, in which he is completely incapable of love or a relation of any sort.  Forgive me I am no great mind or writer like Dostoevsky and without a doubt have already made a fool of myself with my shallow and inadequate understanding of his book.  But the title of the book, Notes From Underground, resonates with me as far as a personal culture is concerned.  I am a self proclaimed “Fallen,” or an outsider, outside of the normal or regular social make up that is ubiquitous in its manifestations throughout the culture portrayed in regular media.  And I am a little mouse like in Dostoevsky’s book lacking the instinct, impulsiveness, robust nature, and naturalness of human interaction and instead am here sitting and letting my mind rot off in broken thoughts, intimations of revenge, and disgust.  I don’t sit here and write to make a big star of myself or to go big or attract a bunch of attention to myself for that is exactly what I don’t want.  I am not writing for anyone but am simply doing so for myself, as Goethe said, “all writing is one form or another is a confession.”  And perhaps that is what this is a personal confession.  And why is it from underground?  Well because what I intend to write about here is not spoken of in everyday culture, is outside the general norm as I see it, and never do I hear or read about anything that has any sort of harmony with myself and as a result this offers me some kind of way to help myself deal with this fact.  Thus my notes from underground begin.