Monday, March 16, 2009

Throwing the Lamp onto the Gasoline

It's about quarter to ten, and I haven't gotten a call to let me know when I'm going to start orientation at the second job. Ordinary men would have given up, but I... I am no ordinary man. I am an Extraordinarily Stubborn Tool-bag.

I'm not good at this. I mean, no one really is. I don't feel like I'm set up for a world where "work" means "job" with everyone scrambling for these little credits that were meant to signify involvement in the human collective. I mean, you have dudes just rolling in this stuff, and have routinely screwed everyone over for the sake of it, just to die after a tedious, flashy, meaningless motorboat ride of a life that just spews oil around and annoys the fuck out of everyone else not on the cock-extension of seafaring vessels.

I want to pretend at fun and games, being the goofy heel-clicking spaz who blurts out randon pieces of science and TV trivia, but... deep down I'm watching humanity attending its own funeral, after a handful of thousands of years blown through like lines on a mirror at 3 a.m. Kids're treating holy shamanistic tools like X-Ray specs, blowing their minds apart into self-interested drivel, terrified of the gaping blackness that weaves in between our senses. A film reiterates the atrocities which we must commit upon each other to even consider progress, and the viewers snicker at a flaccid penis or pick at whether or not it remained "true" to the material from which it was inspired.

I don't know what's left to value, any more. A part of me really, really wants to help people, really wants to encourage people to consider the value of introspection and resolve anthropic bias, or whatever will educate us into looking each other in the eye and seeing ourselves in all sources, regardless of financial, cultural or genetic variation. The other part won't miss the radiowaves and foul emissions busting up the world, or the idiots killing each other over ideas and the other idiots fucking their integrity over for some imaginary shit that's supposed to pass as liquid assets, to say nothing of those who routinely deny what it is to be an animal, who use guilt like a maniac with an automatic rifle, firing it at anyone who won't collect under their particular banner of "-ism"s. I doubt we'll all pull together in some Fullerian utopia, yet that's the world I want to see. It just... requires other people, and so far the only constant in my life seems to be that I can't rely on anyone.

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