Really hate it. That’s all.
“You can’t win. But there are alternatives to fighting.”
— Obi Wan Kenobi
Time marches on.
Life marches on.
Stuff and nonsense and shite, same as it ever was.
Every few months like clockwork, I decide that I’m going to become “one of them” and make piles and piles of money and become desperately famous, or at least super cool and chill and likeable. There are about a dozen ways to do it, and most people can think of them in about four seconds if they give it a try.
But I can’t. I can’t do any of the things. I’m too normatively compromised, too enculturated and culturebound. I can’t be a hooker or a whore, a pornographer or a middleman, a legal con artist or a huckster. I can’t. I try, but I can’t. I decide, but I don’t.
IN the end, I always decide I’d rather die poor and unfamous, unpaid and uninteresting. And there’s the rub… you see the capitalist elite going out there and dining on the meat of children, living the life of rape and honey, and you know that you could be there but for your own hangups.
Sometimes, I berate myself for them.
Sometimes, the ideology almost grabs me and I almost believe for a moment that in fact there really is a “right” and a “wrong” and that they are “right” and that I am simply “wrong” (as they have always told me, all these many years, often with disdain) and I wonder about myself.
But in the end I always return to what I am; I can’t help it. No, I won’t do those things, because I don’t like the consequences, I don’t like what they cause, I don’t like the implications that they create for those that come after me.
So all I can do is wish for a million just and due reckonings in silence, knowing that they will never come and that I am condemned to be and will forever be venerated as one of the silent masses that are forever, even amongst the most elite of us, exploited, forgotten, punished, the bearers of unimaginable loss.
Narcissism? Accuse me of what you want.
Your accusation of me is your accusation of yourself.
And all those of you that I’ve left behind, or that have left me behind (it’s never quite possible to tell, and the battle over the ontological status is the very same political battle at issue here), I hope you get everything in life that you want.
Every last goddamn thing.
To have a self is to be unemployed.
To be unemployed is to have no self.
To have a self is to be a pauper.
To be a pauper is to have no self.
To fail to embrace capitalist ideology is to fail to exist.
To fail to exist is to fail to embrace capitalist ideology.
Systemic systemic systemic systemic joy, Oh!
May modernity eat its children hungrily, one by one.
May postmodernity regurgitate them once again, partially digested and holy.