Hubrist

It will take a miracle. Human nature is, by and large, determined to destroy all that is good, and, ultimately, ourselves, by our foolishness and stupidity. We have wasted our chance; the age of freedom is drawing to a close. And it must. There are simply too many.

Freedom of a sort will still exist for a tiny elite, but for the rest, refused even a proper education, poverty, desperation and addiction will be the reality. War, disease, darkness. How could it be avoided except by the consolidation of power and the elimination of the wild card of free thought and free action? We can’t all be the elite. It will be reserved for the sociopaths who don’t care about the rest of us, just as it was before free societies were dreamed up.

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So I’m reading A War Against Truth. Nothing in it surprises me, except the astounding lack of effort on the part of the American establishment (government, media, corporations) to cover their tracks. I suppose human nature (greedy, lazy, jealous and dishonest) is the one true constant in history. I think I should have a long term goal of moving to Europe, but I suppose there’s still a chance that Canada can assert its autonomy for real again one day. A very slim to nothing chance, with people like Harper around. I think he wants to out-Mulroney Mulroney. The status quo is a crime against humanity.

If I had twenty-four hours to live, I would spend it alone.

Earth. Big place. Small place. Paradox? Relative?

Civilization. Just getting started. Verging on finished. ???

Social problems. Soluble. Insoluble. Comprensible. Incomprehensible. Indeterminate. Imaginary?

No one can understand the whole world, but at the same time, everyone is dissatisfied with the status quo. Aren’t they? Most people? Some people? Me? You? Nobody?

We all want everyone to be happy, right? Some of us want some of us to be happy? We each want to be happy? Some of us want to be happy? We’re really happy already? Happiness is out of our hands?

It’s all just a bunch of chemical reactions and neurotransmitters in a bunch of wet brains. When I feel nauseated by the stench of diesel exhaust, or the sight of yet another Wal*mart, or some obese person eating McDonald’s, or some rich jerk’s Rolex, or a dozen other sources of disgust at human degeneracy and blind self-satisfaction and self-serving self-importance, it’s just a bit of electro-chemical juice zapping around inside my skull casing. It’s not real. It’s not “me”. There is no “me”. There is no you. The esteemed value of your designer jewellery, the fat-dripping pleasure of your fast food burger, the delightful convenience of your big box store and the impressive power of your gigantic internal combustion machine are all just whimsical inventions of a lump of meat with bio-wires running all through it.

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I have to ask. I always have to ask. And what is the question?

What is the point?

The great question of philosophy, subtly re-phrased: what is the point of life? It’s just a way of asking, What should I do? What is important? How do I decide? Once I’ve decided, how do I respond? What are my options? Which option is best?

Of course there’s no certain answer. Of course the answers are subjective, and relative, and temporary. But still. The questions are constantly coming up. Every time we wake up in the morning. Every time we get home from work. Every time we have a choice, we must decide which option to take. Maybe it doesn’t matter, by your estimation, but it matters to me. The act of choosing is the result of a thought process, either impulsive and brief or lengthy and considered.

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Do I lack for motivation, or for faith? Or am I just too tired?

I can’t sleep any more than I do. I still think a lot. But I don’t concentrate on any one thing for long. I’d say I lack discipline, but I’ve never lacked it before, when it came to doing something I cared about. I just don’t care any more. There’s no payoff. I earn enough money at my job to survive and enjoy some simple luxuries.

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I like to describe myself as suffering from serious internal conflicts (not always with that exact phrase). Not that insightful of an observation, really. Just a starting point. I’m sure everybody wants contradictory things, though we all deal with our personal paradoxes differently. Some people don’t acknowledge them. Some people don’t sweat them.

The one that probably vexes me the most, even more than the good vs. selfish one, is that of “reality” versus “mythology”, the latter of which sometimes I’ll disparagingly refer to as “fantasy”.

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It’s a sobering day when you realize that you’re not going to storm the gates of the world at the front of a vanguard of heroic compatriots, assured of your victory of vitalism and virtue over the stalled momentum of the progress of the old ways. When you admit that it’s all a big mess, bigger than you, bigger than anyone. When you consider that you have to settle for being mortal, human, weak and irrelevant.

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The vast mass of the average. Their minds little more than a tedious litany of likes and dislikes, and a few tired schemes relating to them.

I suppose one can only divide people up, meaningfully, by the nature, complexity and subtlety of their likes (concrete and abstract), the schemes they invent (versus imitate) to get them, and the amount of time they spend contemplating them instead of their dislikes and the dark dreams of foiling their nemeses (real or imagined). What else separates us? Superficial appearance, and little else.

The parts of you that you love the most are the parts which everyone else hates.

It’s lonely being so vain. Or lovely?

But the more they don’t care, the more you love them.

It’s misery to be so self-negating.

The only things they want from you were things you promised out of desperation, but couldn’t deliver. And whose fault is that?

But want is not love. It would be wise to learn the difference. But wisdom is rarely wanted, and never loved.

Pity those who have it, or mistakenly think so. Except no one pities anyone who thinks they’re smarter than everyone else. They all like to see that guy get taken down a peg, or put up on one.

The flip side of vanity is vengeance. I could have said “ytinav”, but I don’t do visuals here.

But the only vengeance for not being cared about is not caring. And you don’t have that skill. So maybe you’re not as vain as you think. Or as wise. So you just believe them when they tell you, implicitly, that you’re not worth the trouble.

Because it’s all just the need for approval. Only you just want it from the wrong people. It’s your own fault for lying to them in the first place. As you accuse, so shall you be accused, if only by yourself.

The only person you should be honest with is yourself. If you can’t do that, you will always be tragic.