I've said it before, and I'll say it again, and no one who's written less than me should ever start anything like that, but I'm a king.
Yes, I am indeed a king. I have regal hair with the softest curves. I have attire that causes people to call me “sir” and move out of my way. I eat incredibly fancy food from all over the world which I pay a premium for, because I can afford it. People smirk and chuckle at jokes I make, even the less than funny ones. I control the very air of my living quarters. Millions of people conspire to keep me entertained. I'm in considerably better health (indicated by my plump but not obese stature) than those I generally interact with. I'm skilled in different sports, hobbies, and am as learned as the books I complete every few days (which I even have people to read to me). The finest women have, and continue, to throw themselves at me. (Mostly as they drive.)
By all accounts, I've peaked. My realm of one is as good as it ever has been or could be save the grandiose immortality-seeking posture of vast structures built to honor me and the formation of leisure gardens. But rest assured, vast structures are commissioned and various gardens will be populated with the freshest foods and flowers.
Where, then, to go but the grave?
In one of the newer episodes of Cosmos, Neil deGrasse Tyson discusses East Asian sailors who, after populating islands and growing isolated from each other, forming different dialects and words, they all maintained the pronunciation of “sail.” Something moved them into the vast expanse of the ocean, and by way of urging us on, Neil wants us to believe we can traverse the stars. They had their kingdoms, luxuries and problems, but familiar and safe home, but were compelled into the unknown.
I think the psychology of most of the “West,” is that of the self-satisfied king. What ever could be the matter? So much abundance! The idea of there being something better, someone else to consider, or something beyond was lost. The gripes of baby-boomers about people my age not working hard enough when I never knew someone not working multiple jobs or destroying their youth in service to desperately struggle. It wasn't too far before them things like the steam-engine were invented. Our species’ recent history had an actual life-threatening amount of work to try and improve upon in order to shape our decadent conceptions.
We stagnated. We defeated the Nazis (yeah, right). Everyone got a car, a modest dwelling, vacation once a year, and smart enough to know whether or not they wanted to go to college. When the temperature got turned up on the water we were floating in, it was easy enough to ignore it. Cost of living going up? Environment signaling danger? Sick, but not too sick just yet? Slowly, daily, one person's mind at a time went blind to the cost of living each day like a king. Living like someone with no subjects to account for. Living like someone who can't be held to account without violent revolution and a good beheading.
The grip of how you anchor yourself is practically insurmountable. My dad seemed to have a really hard time hearing that our ancestry was more Peruvian than Italian. My dad is someone who takes an incredible amount of pride in my grandparents and how they grew up and what they went through. My dad has read an insane amount of history and things related to his heritage. A “simple” fact displaced his roots. I don't blame him for being upset. I was happy to figure out how my hair is curly and people habitually think I'm mixed or Hispanic (my dad regularly has people speak Spanish to him...)
Where are we currently anchored? I'm 31, which means I occasionally see a friend of mine who has mostly or finally paid off their student loans. They've raised several cats, had half a dozen jobs, a few first marriages, maybe 3 or 5 kids total if I go back and count. The vast majority, and remember, I knew a lot of smart, hot, middle to upper-middle class white kids, are not married, 2 car garage, 2.5 kids, cliché conception of the past. Most are meme generators playing adult-ish cards in service to not being destitute. They've found a balance that lets them do a series of mid-life crisis things, now prepackaged and Grouponed, every couple of months.
Kids? Maybe by accident or if their spouses had them from the previous relationship. Work satisfaction? Hey, at least it's not that guy's amount per hour. What's the future look like? Honestly, in asking myself that question, when trying to adopt the character of my collective conception of what I've watched from my online feeds...I don't know. I drew a blank. My personal conception is the freedom to move away from the increasing number of disasters I think I see coming. It probably has a few hastily built rooms with a dozen quasi-businesses. Hopefully I've roped back in Hatsam and haven't scared away Allie Cat.
Yes, I am indeed a king. I have regal hair with the softest curves. I have attire that causes people to call me “sir” and move out of my way. I eat incredibly fancy food from all over the world which I pay a premium for, because I can afford it. People smirk and chuckle at jokes I make, even the less than funny ones. I control the very air of my living quarters. Millions of people conspire to keep me entertained. I'm in considerably better health (indicated by my plump but not obese stature) than those I generally interact with. I'm skilled in different sports, hobbies, and am as learned as the books I complete every few days (which I even have people to read to me). The finest women have, and continue, to throw themselves at me. (Mostly as they drive.)
By all accounts, I've peaked. My realm of one is as good as it ever has been or could be save the grandiose immortality-seeking posture of vast structures built to honor me and the formation of leisure gardens. But rest assured, vast structures are commissioned and various gardens will be populated with the freshest foods and flowers.
Where, then, to go but the grave?
In one of the newer episodes of Cosmos, Neil deGrasse Tyson discusses East Asian sailors who, after populating islands and growing isolated from each other, forming different dialects and words, they all maintained the pronunciation of “sail.” Something moved them into the vast expanse of the ocean, and by way of urging us on, Neil wants us to believe we can traverse the stars. They had their kingdoms, luxuries and problems, but familiar and safe home, but were compelled into the unknown.
I think the psychology of most of the “West,” is that of the self-satisfied king. What ever could be the matter? So much abundance! The idea of there being something better, someone else to consider, or something beyond was lost. The gripes of baby-boomers about people my age not working hard enough when I never knew someone not working multiple jobs or destroying their youth in service to desperately struggle. It wasn't too far before them things like the steam-engine were invented. Our species’ recent history had an actual life-threatening amount of work to try and improve upon in order to shape our decadent conceptions.
We stagnated. We defeated the Nazis (yeah, right). Everyone got a car, a modest dwelling, vacation once a year, and smart enough to know whether or not they wanted to go to college. When the temperature got turned up on the water we were floating in, it was easy enough to ignore it. Cost of living going up? Environment signaling danger? Sick, but not too sick just yet? Slowly, daily, one person's mind at a time went blind to the cost of living each day like a king. Living like someone with no subjects to account for. Living like someone who can't be held to account without violent revolution and a good beheading.
The grip of how you anchor yourself is practically insurmountable. My dad seemed to have a really hard time hearing that our ancestry was more Peruvian than Italian. My dad is someone who takes an incredible amount of pride in my grandparents and how they grew up and what they went through. My dad has read an insane amount of history and things related to his heritage. A “simple” fact displaced his roots. I don't blame him for being upset. I was happy to figure out how my hair is curly and people habitually think I'm mixed or Hispanic (my dad regularly has people speak Spanish to him...)
Where are we currently anchored? I'm 31, which means I occasionally see a friend of mine who has mostly or finally paid off their student loans. They've raised several cats, had half a dozen jobs, a few first marriages, maybe 3 or 5 kids total if I go back and count. The vast majority, and remember, I knew a lot of smart, hot, middle to upper-middle class white kids, are not married, 2 car garage, 2.5 kids, cliché conception of the past. Most are meme generators playing adult-ish cards in service to not being destitute. They've found a balance that lets them do a series of mid-life crisis things, now prepackaged and Grouponed, every couple of months.
Kids? Maybe by accident or if their spouses had them from the previous relationship. Work satisfaction? Hey, at least it's not that guy's amount per hour. What's the future look like? Honestly, in asking myself that question, when trying to adopt the character of my collective conception of what I've watched from my online feeds...I don't know. I drew a blank. My personal conception is the freedom to move away from the increasing number of disasters I think I see coming. It probably has a few hastily built rooms with a dozen quasi-businesses. Hopefully I've roped back in Hatsam and haven't scared away Allie Cat.
I've found myself coalescing at work. What does that mean? I'm finding it easier and easier to shine, get cocky about it, and speak with a more demanding and daring tone. It comes out in an email I shouldn't have responded to. It has me making sure you notice I went above and beyond in manipulating the stupid or crazy person into doing what I needed. My “future” in doing something like this is the same as it was for me when I behaved that way in school. Extra shit to do. People giving me that look like they wish they could destroy me, except, dammit, I really did help them with something or actually know what I'm talking about. It would be a safe, prescribed, future dictated by the inadequate expectations and pace of a system that stagnates by design.
While we're all holed up in our homes coming face to face with the immediacy that catastrophe can strike, revel in the opportunity to reflect on what's been stuck that, ironically, can be unleashed with the right compelling force. You have to will your way into the future, attack problems worth your skill and attention, and define the indefinite unknown as something for you to shape. You can get fatter, richer, older and more complacent. You can be a cliché king from a forgettable child's fable of folly and excess. Or, you can mark your era by the continued conscious decisions to behave your way over another. To speak to what you actually want and believe, over what's been handed to you, wilted and wrung dry.
If the bug kills you, what did you leave? Your nice-enough personality? Your impersonal out-of-context Ikea quotes and art on your walls? Was it anything someone coming after you could pick up and take even further? There's a kind of king I wish to be that I'm not yet. I have my solitary kingdom, cut from the wretchedness of circumstances imposed upon me. But I still dream. I still wish to design the mind that makes it hard to stop but for the chance to stare and wonder about all that is or will be.
While we're all holed up in our homes coming face to face with the immediacy that catastrophe can strike, revel in the opportunity to reflect on what's been stuck that, ironically, can be unleashed with the right compelling force. You have to will your way into the future, attack problems worth your skill and attention, and define the indefinite unknown as something for you to shape. You can get fatter, richer, older and more complacent. You can be a cliché king from a forgettable child's fable of folly and excess. Or, you can mark your era by the continued conscious decisions to behave your way over another. To speak to what you actually want and believe, over what's been handed to you, wilted and wrung dry.
If the bug kills you, what did you leave? Your nice-enough personality? Your impersonal out-of-context Ikea quotes and art on your walls? Was it anything someone coming after you could pick up and take even further? There's a kind of king I wish to be that I'm not yet. I have my solitary kingdom, cut from the wretchedness of circumstances imposed upon me. But I still dream. I still wish to design the mind that makes it hard to stop but for the chance to stare and wonder about all that is or will be.
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