Suppose we assume that people start out with an amoral sense. I
stress not immoral. But try and conceive of people who are,
absolutely ingrained and prompted to behave certain ways over others
given their genes, yet still as much or more so compelled by their
surroundings. Limbo bimbos.
Now, simply suppose we're all human. Before you add the layer of
what you think about human, certain things reign supreme independent
of your perception. Easy stuff, right? Like, if I cut you, you'll
bleed. Nothing about how you think will stop the blood from flowing.
Maybe you can tell, I'm trying to get really complicated.
Say we're to impose a sense of “morality” on the human
creature. If you bleed too much, you die. So in a world where we want
to respect the human creature, people who cut people too deep so that
they die, we can safely assume we don't want part of our culture.
I say this not to pretend like it's hard to understand. I simply
think that “everything” needs to be broken down into its “duh,
you stupid fuck” language.
Insofar as you experience feelings, you can generally assume most
other people do as well. I'm fascinated by the idea of someone
“respecting feelings.” I honestly have no concept of it. First,
how you tell me you feel, I generally find suspect. Second, in that
you relate your feelings as “the most” or “the hardest” or
“the worst” I'm immediately turned off to your plight given your
selfish naivety. Third, there's this grand assumption that I've
never been, nor will ever be, able to experience your feelings or
something tantamount.
I think when we play this game, we act like fools. I think it's
often understood that the way I engage with life or with friends is
with this sweep of the hand disregard for where you're coming from.
It's more accurate to say I disrespect it. It's saying, I don't
respect enabling my ability to do the same as you're doing with yourself.
The more you conceive of yourself as “special” or “different”
or a brilliant little butterfly, the farther away we'll ever be from
being “real friends.”
My conception of “problem” is broad. If I were to play the
rank and file game, how you feel doesn't break the top 20. At the
top, would just be the various stupid ways in which people die. 1.
Dying out of sheer, but actually known, ignorance. We didn't feed the
people healthy food so they died from the things we very much
understand about too much sugar. We understand lead to be a poison,
so we kept poisoning people because big oil paid one scientist to
vehemently disagree for 20 or so years. 2. Perhaps people dying
“indirectly” from ignorant “fuck you” type behaviors. We're
chasing terrorists. Keep the child body count coming. Not to discount
men and women, but doesn't there seem to be something particularly
special about blowing up children? We can't even get that in our
video games.
My “problems” have everything to do with perception.
Perception amongst friends. Perception of definitions. Perception of
responsibilities. Perception of the capacity and nature of humanity.
Perception of the future. Perception of my self and the degree in
which I'm responsible of culpable. Perception of the nature of the
conversation about you, me, or “it' in general. Perception and
awareness dominate the reasons I do or don't do absolutely anything.
This is why I ask you to speak the fuck up. I know too many “cool
enough” people. You know what I'd rather have? Friends. I'd love to
stop hesitating using the word.
When you don't speak, you don't stand for anything. You're not
counted. You're not starting on the road to uncovering what you and
your kind may be able to do about it. When you don't bitch, you're
defaulting to complicit. You're the status quo, the problem, the
reason it never gets better. Crazy people have a voice. It's fucking
loud. It's fucking deadly. Unwise despots of spirit are ushered into
puppet pulpits of power. Ask yourself why we can't fix things today.
Ask yourself why you think your voice doesn't matter. Ask yourself
why you just need to “get by” while you hold as many or more
thoughts than I've ever shit out onto a page.
Every day we don't talk about things that matter I feel is wasted.
Every day it weighs on my mind. Every day I'm fighting back a
headache. Every day I find a reason to beat myself up or find a
reason to stop trying. You can't even work your fingers under an
inspiring or thought provoking article? You can't call me out on
something you think I got wrong? You “prefer in face” to “on
facebook” digressions as if there's a real difference or that I'm
supposed to “just get” the difference and respect it? The only
message I'm every taking away is that you don't give a fuck. Whatever
you think you're saying, I'm going to tell you what I'm hearing. You.
Don't. Give. A. Fuck.
And that's why I struggle with conceiving of friends. I can't keep
taking for granted that we're the “smart elite” that not only see
past my disposition, but “get it in all the same ways I do.” It's
not that the problems of the world feel all that big or all that
complicated. It's that I feel like I'm the only one who gives a fuck.
I feel like I'm only one talking about them save the arbitrary number
of reporters or celebrities I follow. We're a terrible example of the
ground floor, the grassroots, or the “public awareness” of
anything. I've hated this for as long as I've been able to talk about
it, and I hate it even more in this moment.
And I know it's unfair, unwise, and ridiculous to feel this way!
This is the sick sick irony that will follow me to my grave. But I
don't know how else to speak to it. I don't know what I'm supposed to
do about it until I play with coffee long enough to make money to
start employing people to start behaving as I see fit. My capacity to
feel lazy, jaded, disenfranchised and helpless don't mean I enjoy
them or want to carry on as if I can't think of a fix. Fucking help
me.
