This young woman is brilliant. Her words are simple and as direct as water splashing it's self.
Two thoughts as I watch this video; her friend should listens to her advice because as someone who shares experience with her, she knows better than anyone, and second I wonder if I have ever been the boy she speaks of. As a male listener there is a perfect conflict formed in my being, as I contemplate this simple message. Am I bad? Am I boring? Am I a drag? What does a good woman deserve?
There is another thought; the boy she is singing about is more worthless then myself. This is really an extension of the first thought, because her friend should leave the boy because he's worse than I've ever been, but this 'worst' connects back to me as a possibility for myself. It's at this point where I, as Jean Paul Sartre put it get trapped in the dream of another, Jean Paul Sartre calls this hell, but to me it doesn’t burn.
I resign myself to this perception, and say "sweet heart, your friend must find her best possible world, and I am not it, clearly, I have always been who I am, and that’s just who I will remain." At this point you’re probably thinking, "yeah bull shit, you act like you put other people before you self even when it comes to the most basic elements of human nature?!?" And I understand this, which in a sense means its true even in this strange existential way, but you’re over looking something, something so important... I identified with the singer's message before I turned it against myself. This is the way I let go of myself, and am able to say such extraordinarily preposterous things and still triumph as an opener of possible worlds, other damnations. I am triumphant and destroyed at the same moment, because i've let go of myself to regain my composer.
But there is something else... What is this something else? There’s what Derrida calls gaze of the cat. The cat is you. In all likelihood I didn't anticipate your thoughts at all and instead made myself into a buffoon, maybe even a little creepy, but even though I didn't anticipate your thought's I did change them along the way, and now we're in a fundamentally different place. What should we call this place? We could call it uncanny. We can call it love.
I love Yulia… the song. Yulia is a certain kind of femininity that makes me a certain kind of masculinity that loves her, and gives her up. Just like Kierkegaard's knight of Faith. It's also like the movie J(2002), in that movie Julie Powell is a knight of faith. The story goes like this, Julie Powell is a young writer becomes disillusioned with her job and decides to take a year learning all the recipes in Julia Child's cook book. Gradually as Miss Powell cooks the meals she develops a fondness for Julia Child until she even feels as though she knows her. Julie Powell decided to write a blog to record the process, but the blog became so popular that Julie Powell got a publishing deal. Julia Child read the book, and publicly announced her displeasure with it. When Julie Powell heard that Julia Child didn't like her book she was heartbroken, and even had a bit of an identity crises. Then Julie powell decided that she wasn't going to let Julia Child ruined her new passion for cooking, and indeed she even decided she wouldn't even give up her fondness for Julia Child, and that’s when she became a night of faith, regaining everything that was lost, and free to repeat her passion over and over again forever without ever losing it. In Kierkegaard's book repetition he contrasts this mode of repeating ones passion with mere memory. Memory is sad it makes nothing new, but repetition is always new.
If you’re still having trouble with these concepts then here are some links that could help you. Trust me you may not think so now but all this shit I'm talking about here--its way fuck awesome stuff that can help you in your real life.
Habit, Repetition, Enjoyment by Daniel Coffeen
Jacques Darrida talking about animals
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