The advantage of those who have endured an excessively dull school routine and made it out alive is this: after graduation, they can turn even the most boring job into something interesting.
The advantage of those who have endured an excessively dull school routine and made it out alive is this: after graduation, they can turn even the most boring job into something interesting.
― Atrona Grizel
Overly “positive” societies replace traditional tyrannical oppression with a constant culture and norm of function and performance. In doing so, they accomplish what historical torturers did not: they decorate and embellish torture so that it appears as freedom, thereby making it even more effective, because opposing it becomes more difficult. Torture is no longer something that can be pointed to and identified as “this,” but has instead become a background feature. In other words, people are now under constant pressure to “prove themselves” and “realize their potential.” Since liberal propaganda presents this as being for the individual’s own good, opposing it automatically backfires, as it is perceived as opposing one’s own well-being. After all, who would not want to realize their potential and be happy by proving themselves? This is, in fact, a form of social conditioning. Someone who has never been exposed to this value could recognize it, keep their potential within, achieve nothing by conventional standards, and still be happy. Yet it has become such a deeply internalized global culture that it is now accepted as part of human nature. People have become both the worker and the supervisor. No visible chains are required. When Byung-Chul Han wrote this, he was referring to how the modern fetishization of happiness reshapes identity itself, pushing self-doubt disguised as “introspection” to such extremes that it can even tip into mental disorders. As a result, resisting such an “optimistic,” “hopeful,” and “positive” world is like punching fog, because this world has also become superficial, empty, and hollow. Totalitarian regimes are rigid, like a wall. One can strike the wall or simply stay away from it. Liberal regimes, on the other hand, are like air. Even if the air is poisonous, one must eventually breathe it. And because the majority has grown accustomed to this poison, very few perceive the air as toxic. Some are visibly affected by it and are usually labeled as “depressive.” They are described as unmotivated, sad, and lonely by those accustomed to this air, whereas what remains unknown—or is unwillingly ignored—is that they may simply be reacting to the poison in a healthy way. However, since they lack tangible proof, they cannot demonstrate the existence of this poison and instead come to believe that the problem lies in their own lungs, leading them down a path of self-hatred. It seems, then, that living in an openly oppressive, harsh, and vindictive dystopia might even reduce many forms of existential suffering, because in such regimes, where most action is forbidden, even the smallest act carries radical beauty. This is partly due to the pervasive paranoia that makes people more detail-oriented, and partly due to a poetic sensibility that finds a grim sense of belonging in what might otherwise seem meaningless. For example, in such societies, someone who openly insults the “supreme leader” can be imprisoned for just a few words. This, in a way, reminds people of the value of words and teaches self-control. Liberal democracies, on the other hand, overflow with loudmouths and chatterboxes, because it is instinctively understood that no one truly listens to anyone else. This is because, in democratic societies, action has lost its value: everyone can do everything, and more than that, everyone is obliged to do something, to work day and night until spiritual exhaustion. In effect, even rebellion is absorbed before it can fully emerge.
― Atrona Grizel
Once you pass the age of 18, the individual becomes “automatically liberated” on paper. In practice, however, this freedom is no greater than that of a puppet state. Yet the true rulers of such a state must, of course, convince the public through propaganda that they are independent, in order to legitimize their authority.
― Atrona Grizel
My room… no matter how plain and unadorned it is, still looks to me like it’s covered in so many unnecessary things. At the very least, the belongings. There are so many unused items. Why can’t others use them? Is it private property? And what happens when these things are produced in such excessive numbers that the planet’s resources are depleted? In my daily rhythm, I’m not even in my room most of the time, so while I spend hours outside, many things there remain unused. Clothes, for instance. Pens, papers, erasers. Or my computer. Why can’t others use them when I’m not at home, like some kind of shift system? Why doesn’t such a system exist? Even if it were a violation of privacy, if it were regulated, that could be addressed. But honestly, neither the state nor society seems to care about this, because they won’t come to their senses until the planet becomes unbreathable from overproduction and excess.
― Atrona Grizel
For a person who is completely alone, finding someone who shows them attention usually causes their mind to fixate on that person, even if they don’t outwardly show it. As a result, they become unable to focus on their work, drift into thoughts for no reason, and even begin to see that person in their dreams. This situation is like someone who hasn’t drunk water for years finally finding a water source. That person may refuse to drink from it. But how can they stop that source from decorating their dreams? This is exactly my situation. Even the slightest attention from someone inevitably gathers my focus onto them, because there is no one else in my life to think about. As a result, even the most insignificant and worthless people end up occupying my thoughts all day, and eventually they take over my dreams at night. Because of this, I feel I must stay away from even the smallest connection. As the relationship progresses, I notice that I begin to lose my own identity, because my mind, like a primitive animal starved for connection, stops caring about anything else. I can’t even make time for my inner world, because my attention locks onto the other person in a way I cannot control. Periods like this are clearly my most unproductive times. I can’t focus on my work, I can neither read nor write. But when that other person disappears, my mind, which had surrounded them like a hunter, relaxes once the prey is gone, turns back to itself, and reclaims the abandoned inner world. In other words: I possess the identity of an extremely isolated being that cannot reconcile with relationships, and forming connections causes me to lose my sense of self.
― Atrona Grizel
I do not need a reader of my writings; I need someone capable of reading them. Reading is a simple act, whereas being able to read means grasping what is read.
― Atrona Grizel
The more things one tries to attend to, the less intense that attention becomes. As outward focus increases, inward reflection diminishes, and given that modernity is built upon externality, this amounts even to the death of philosophy, as it turns into nothing more than a tool of personal fashion just to seduce others.
― Atrona Grizel
The defining trait of overly entangled communities and societies is their excessive familiarity with one another, or at least the illusion of it. As these societies grow in size, what is called a “phantom society” emerges, where individuals assume the constant existence of countless people they do not actually know, merely because they have glimpsed them momentarily. Consequently, they attempt to eliminate distance, meddle in everything under the guise of “group benefit,” and in doing so become highly impulsive, saying whatever comes to mind or immediately expressing whatever they feel, often resulting in conflict and noise. This occurs because a sustained atmosphere of respect, which would allow for deep thought, cannot exist due to the blurring of personal boundaries.
― Atrona Grizel
If I killed myself right now, it wouldn’t prove or disprove anything. But society sticks its nose in here too, and starts evaluating an entire life based on that one act.
― Atrona Grizel
Learning to drive in the modern world feels like a kind of social obligation. That alone makes me feel a certain disgust toward it. In a post-apocalyptic world, however, it becomes almost an existential necessity to travel vast distances. Because of that, I believe I could learn to drive any vehicle I could get my hands on, on my own. Why is this so? Because I don’t even choose the first one; it is society’s pressure that makes that choice for me. In the second case, there is not even such a thing as society anymore, and therefore the forces that turn vehicles into cultural values also disappear. So I, someone who cannot even hold a steering wheel properly, might become capable of driving all kinds of vehicles in that situation. This also includes military service: since the states that forcibly conscript me into the army no longer exist, I would become someone who voluntarily tries out all weapons.
― Atrona Grizel
My mother and father are art teachers. Art? Yes. At least, that’s how it appears on paper. They studied it. They got their certificates. Now they teach it. When imagining how they met, it shouldn’t form the image of two troubled artists, alienated from society and misunderstood by others, coming together. Because they clearly chose teaching, that is, remaining within the system. Frankly, they never felt like outsiders, and so none of those outsider romances ever took place. They are art teachers because it is one of the few small areas they are slightly interested in, and by studying it, they institutionalized that interest. In other words, they stripped their passion of being passion, carved it down, and turned it into a salary. Both of them are obsessed with the concept of “mighty nation,” because honestly, why would someone who is disgusted by a society become a teacher if they want to transcend that society’s ideology? When I was a child, whenever I asked them, “Why does everyone worship the founder of this country?” they would always give answers like this: “Because we fought against the most powerful states in the world; because we were in ruins, but now we are a modernized nation; because we used to be fragmented and backward, but now we are united and advanced.” This is predictable. The duty of teachers is to repeat Big Brother’s words to students like a parrot, to raise them “in the way he desires,” to prepare them for performances that praise this Supreme Leader, and to ensure that even after they leave school, considering that this divine ruler might actually be human is treated as heresy. In other words, they say: “We are always good; we are the best.” Someone who goes to North Korea would hear the same thing. Or Turkmenistan. Or Afghanistan. All of them are under totalitarian regimes, and all of their founders are elevated to a level that rivals gods. Which means that, in reality, no leader is truly “great.” But explaining this to institutionalized people is impossible. So… how can such people who cannot even genuinely think create art? They can’t. The truth is this: neither of my parents actually knows how to “paint.” There is no retreat into solitude, no hours spent with muses drawing portraits. They do this only for money. And this, in itself, is one of the insults to art. And since it is an insult to art, it is also an insult to me, who, as a form of art, is forced to exist within such a family. Moreover, there’s this as well: if they had truly been alienated, if they had genuinely been lost within the depths of their own souls, they wouldn’t have even given birth to me; they wouldn’t have carried out such a deeply cultural and social act. And if they had taken into account a society this rotten, they wouldn’t have done it at all.
― Atrona Grizel