There's something deeper going on in the recesses of my mind that I haven't been able to describe yet. There's a ton of blogs that make allusions to the feeling, but it's this particular kind of sense that I get on that hangover day where the depressive qualities of alcohol mix with whatever I did and said, good or bad, the night before. Incidentally, today there's a further reaching comment I'm looking for regarding the whole of existence and my general approach to life.
Nothing is so beyond your control than the circumstances of your birth. Babies enter a reality of the ground exploding around them in violent parts of the world. They catch preventable diseases and die shortly after. Some get horrible parents that mentally, sexually, and physically abuse them before passing them off to other family members that do the same thing. The silver-spoons might occupy practically another planet. If you're in the vast majority of “the middle” you maintain a kind of identity that's just over the horizon if you can work hard enough or catch a break.
There's a disconnect. There's a fundamental dishonesty about our lives and natures that we do everything in our power to ignore. We pick the exact opposite words and behaviors, every time, across all topics, in order to keep the lie going. The petals of self-respect and self-worth we've picked are threatened by an endless procession of tornadoes of words you don't like and terrifying realities you don't deserve. The orientation of our personal narratives assumes a true north, divine inspiration, or moral blessing.
I feel like it would be hard to stop a list of how it plays out. We know school shouldn't cost so much, if anything, but will stay in it indefinitely. We know our eating or smoking habit makes us sick and depressed and poor, but hey everyone's got vices! We claim deep emotional connections to people who routinely abuse and disrespect us. We're chanting “Make America great again” to a drunk mentally handicapped elephant wielding an out of control chainsaw. We're personally justified in everything we ever do or say, but refuse to even act like it's possible other people know better. The responsible and loving caregivers are exploited. The ones who try to budget and allocate resources wisely are thrown under suspicion as crackpots and impractical. It's you desperately needing a real hug and finding people who blame you for pissing themselves because you squeezed too hard.
I draw so much inspiration from Jordan Peterson lectures. In one of his discussions with Joe Rogan he calls Joe a monster, and that's why people like him. He's not unduly aggressive and ignorant in his honest pursuit for clarity of mind and connection with his guests. He's fearless in his jokes, and it doesn't hurt to be the size of a truck if people want to attempt an ignorant way of disagreeing with him.
We refuse. We outright refuse to believe we're monsters. It is never, not ever, our fault. We didn't misunderstand. We weren't impatient. We're not responsible for voting, or not. We can't be blamed if you didn't read our minds. We never meant to cause the problem you're accusing us of. And yes, WE, because it's never ME who does anything without the power and backing of the impersonal mass of the self-righteous dispossessed. Were we not so humble and meek we'd be unable to write the God-given dictums that instill the undying faith in our judgment of your hell hound barking.
The revolution is personal. Accept that you are the monster. You failed. You're responsible. You started screaming, I didn't pull your cord labeled scream. You perpetuate racism by closing yourself off to the idea that it can be addressed in tangible ways. You subvert women when you couch your sentiments first in the language of denigrating men or masculinity before pretending you're addressing pay disparity. You thrive and celebrate your victimhood and play pretend at the kind of assured condescension that you envy and admire. You crave power for its own sake. You want revenge and to make other people feel as terrible as you do. And you want to be congratulated for it. You want to be crowned the victor and surround yourself with people even more afraid than you of dropping the pretense.
You have it good, and you hate what you have. You don't even have it good. You have it the best anyone in life has ever had it EVER. You're going to live longer than EVERYONE. You already have and are only going to accumulate more wealth than EVERYONE else. You have access to practically all information you could ever need to do anything. You are never hungry. You haven't worked harder a single day in your life than what most people have to every day to still barely get by.
Your inability to deal with the overwhelming amount of hatred you have for your squandered resentful life is why you lose your shit around people like me. I ridicule myself routinely. I treat shit like shit. I remain consistent in my commitment to transcend instead of excuse. I know I'm a monster. I know why I don't choose to act like one. You don't. That is a choice you make for yourself every moment of every day. You lay down on your cross, and recite your mantra, and pray you never encounter again demons like me. Demons who don't hate you, but you see hatred anyway. Demons who talk in hushed tones, but you say your ears are bleeding. Demons who've done the work and devoted the time to turning over the stones of their demonic nature which you throw to the bottom of the ocean in spiteful denial.
I'm not going to hand you your identity. I'm not going to play the role you need me to play. You're not my victim. You're a slave to your bad ideas. You pretend that because “we all think this way” they aren't or can never be bad ideas. With an inability to speak for yourself, every terrible bit, you substitute a voice for the masses that [no way!] share your agenda. I don't speak for “white people” or “men” or “college graduates” or “the global 1%.” I speak as the ongoing amalgam and puzzle that is the Nick P. storyline fighting its way to the front of my head. I'm not lecturing you, I'm decoding me. Conversation isn't compulsory, nor do I strap you in and drag your eyes across the page. Regardless, no amount of reading me, ignoring me, judging me, or hating me is going substitute for the work you refuse to do to be responsible for your person. It seems a sick statement on the nature of reality that you'll never really know you're doing it right until the majority treat you as their sacrificial lamb.
