[451] Spare

Pride comes before the fall, or so I’ve been told. If there is a more famous sentiment that can’t be passed laterally to “eye for an eye,” I challenge you to find it. I suppose were it not so famous it wouldn’t be worth talking about its nature to hide. You couldn’t break down when it appears or explain what it does to whatever subject has been introduced. And what of the fall? It seems to me we no longer believe in such a thing, but moreso insist it needs to happen faster. It’s not a faint hint of caution or parable, it’s 21st century fascist rallies and cheering austerity. It’s fatalistic. It’s me getting ahead of myself.

I understand what it feels like to be confident in something you’ve done or studied. I believe it was a qualiasoup Youtube video that talked about pursuing your Ph.D, and for all the time that it took you are a bubble on an infinitely growing circle of knowledge. It’s respectable to occupy one’s brain and pursue knowledge, surely at some level to the betterment of humanity in general. In another light, it can isolate you into only ever being able to relate to the world through that medium. “The rest” shrinks and implicitly becomes less worthy of your time or capacity.

Now of course several years spent studying a subject or devoting a standard work day to your craft is not the same thing as being some feral child in the woods. Given the amount of on-the-fly analogies I’m sure to make in this, let’s adopt the habit of not reading into them too far. The idea remains the same. “The whole of life” is a subject unto itself in marrying science and philosophy, the natural and machines, the body and the “self.” To wholly advocate or relate to the world from an even more specific and particular trapping of the imagination, than the limits of our bodies already impose, doesn’t do us any favors.

As I see it, some people chase the white dragon beyond the realm of common sense or courtesy. It’s what makes pursuing goals that don’t rely purely on your own effort a pain in the ass. I look for programmers, I get very serious people who are very professional and busy who could never dare to indulge my fantasy if I don’t swallow their email lecture and appreciate just what kind of standing they hold in the “programming world.” Mother fucker, you’re looking for jobs on Craigslist. I didn’t call an elite firm in downtown Chicago asking for a revolutionary new program to guide a tank with mind control.

But everyone’s got advice. How could they not? One person sent me the equivalent of a “DIY build a business plan” template just so they could better understand what I want is a map that already exists, but needs to display marginally different information. I want to know how rock hard they get when they tell me their hourly rate. I want to know why it’s relevant you programmed an app once that no one’s heard of and several pages that remind me of the alterations I used to make to my Myspace.

It’s riding a wave of bullshit. That’s the most frustrating thing about “becoming familiar with everything” you will ever experience. Everyone is so. full. of shit. It already feels understated and fact-of-life right? That’s because your experience of everyone being full of shit is itself So. Full. Of shit! Crazy right?

Because when you might jokingly write off a teenager’s expression of love, I spent years delving into how or why that love was or wasn’t coming from God. When you are able to write off and enjoy the show of modern day politics, I spent several months trying to put candidates in a historical context that didn’t reduce me to tears upon thinking too heavily about their influence on our collective psychology. It’s a form of suffering, I don’t want you to pretend there’s an ounce of worthwhile pride I’m seeking. I have to figure all of it out, because the pain of not knowing is worse.

And I suppose I don’t know enough people who are the same. I don’t work with people who have an unflinching sense about the standard they hold and what it feels like each second it can’t be met. I have habits I know are explicitly what I’m looking for in other people in order for things to go right. I don’t need trial periods. I don’t need to hold your hand. I’m not in doubt what needs to happen and the type of person that needs to be behind it. Wagging your price tag, burdened by your habit of attempting to school me, hell, even responding with anything but a dispassionate “ok, gotcha” is a dead giveaway you’re probably the worst fucking person I should never be working with.

The world really does operate on this “choice” thing I’ve mentioned in the past. Let’s talk about Oregon students getting shot up. Intellectually, I don’t want to be randomly shot or afraid of the country I live in. Personally, fuck em. I don’t give a shit. I’m not choosing to shoot people nor advocate for their right to be blissfully unaware of how the rest of the world operates around guns. I don’t hold myself responsible for dead people from gun violence. The fence sitters. The Constitution jockeys. The insanely afraid of every bump in the night crowd. You killed those people. And if anyone went down who held the same views, they killed themselves.

This idea of responsibility. It’s a fucking joke. According to your silence, according to my general perception of society at large, according to popular comments online and attitudes from the farthest reaching voices on the planet, I could die tonight and be said to have “won” the game. Don’t believe me? It’s not the awards I could pursue, the position I could hold, or the amount of people I’ve influenced. I have money, time, friends, hobbies, if not only several reasons I’m still keen on waking up tomorrow. I understand power to be fleeting, my ego and time illusory (yet effective), and on my worst day you’ll get something like this and a horrible joke, unless I get too drunk and then maybe a hole in the wall. Small potatoes.

Old people will tell you to appreciate your health. No better time to go out than before the cancer strikes. Pursue your goals and learn things! Leave aside that knowledge alienates and weighs on you. Did you know there used to be a medical condition attributed to people who learned too much? Consume consume consume! I literally have nothing left to buy that isn’t meant to mimic bored upper middle class people. Paycheck to paycheck? Nah, bills paid 5 years in advance and many days I feel I’d be comfortable living out of a van if paying those ever becomes too cumbersome. Hang out with your friends! Maybe a few times a year, and haven’t you gone back to people as cattle? Surely people love you! This isn’t “It’s a Wonderful Life,” they’ll manage as well as they are without my word vomit.

I need to rid myself of what feels like a curse. Something about me needs to die. It is beyond weird as fuck to think my life would be considerably easier if I were a suicidal person. Slow that down and tuck your concern back in your pocket. Objectively, dead people don’t feel the burden to whine, a significantly easier task than finding the words to chase away the headaches.

How easy it would be to have faith! How easy it would be to be fatalistic! What a joy were I a pothead! What grace could a constant flow of rum bestow!? Nay, stretch my athletic machismo and take up boxing! The cure all along a kind of irony only blows to the head could mete out.

I mean, in reality, even the environment I think about cultivating in the future, it’s still not even the greatest proportion of “me.” I think about the last friend hangout. For all the lore of Corbin’s basement. I wasn’t there in the past. I don’t belong in the basement. It can’t be resurrected in the same form anymore than my house parties. It’s almost a freak accident I fell into this group of friends given how little paperwork and zero fees were due. I’m barely athletic, could give two shits about the outdoors. My tie seems to be our capacity to be assholes. Old news? Ever stated explicitly? Does it matter?

In a sense. Because then when I’m complaining or advocating or trying, I’m not really speaking the same language. You’re all smart people. We can obviously discuss things in intelligent ways and that’s a huge draw when you’re cultivating a healthy atmosphere. But I’m not calling you to hide the body. Of course it’s not a knock against you, but it’s more than a difference of hobbies, ya know? A nagging ruthless efficiency isn’t friendly.

I feel I’m constantly dancing around “pride.” I feel like pride is supposed to instill a sense of joy or belonging. Like you’ve staked out your place and feel confident you’re providing something valuable. Perhaps you’re now “proof” of something ineffable. I provide the contents of my ass and every once in awhile it strikes a chord. I debate whether finishing a book or getting drunk and doing trivia alone are going to be more “respectable.” I invite people to constantly talk and think down about me with blogs, in doing drug trials, or in what the average observer would no doubt call “failed” coffee ventures. The only time I felt proud was dashing headlong driven by naivety. It certainly doesn’t matter how old you are. I just feel like I’m constantly bumping into the previous gaps in my perspective exhibited in other people. And instead of informing me what I’m almost certainly fucking up, people can only condescend; if I’m lucky, shrug their shoulders.

You’re not “proud” when someone doesn’t operate like you. You’re envious they can operate like they are. I feel I’m nothing if not capable of bringing people down. Raining on the parade. But it’s in service to, “but fuck everything I’m saying, I genuinely hope it’s the best thing ever.” I can’t just spend money and believe. I can’t just take words for it. I can’t take pride in the words “start-up” or “entrepreneur.” I don’t forget everything I want to do or haven’t done just because I’m surrounded by more relaxed types nor pressured by the unreasonably anal. I’m always just here. I’m just waiting for a cue that isn’t to eat, shit, start a movie, or write.

I don’t want to hang out. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to debate whether or not you can grasp I understand the reasons I’m going about something the way I am. But I really don’t want to fucking pretend. I don’t want the same handful of people constantly come to mind when I think about their habits and how they pollute the landscape at large. I don’t want to relate to the world through facebook chat and pictures. I want to be exhausted, just not existentially. My environment, big and small, is zapping my will. I’m in a drought. Someone turn off the sun.