Leapdragon 2016 - Aron Hsiao Was Here

not knowing but still breathing  §

First snow of the season seems to have struck. It was hardly a storm at all, but at least it happened, and it has left me feeling a little better, and also a little wistful. I can’t help but think that maybe it’s time I got myself drugged up with neuroaffective treatments because I’m just not onboard with the project of the marketplace right now.

All of this cold-weather mobile living talk has me wanting to be a nomad and drop out of the market economy. But I’ll need solar panels first.

I really, really, really disklike capital modernity. And without a doubt, apathy is creeping in at the edges. My edges. I am beginning to wonder whether I care about any cause or idea at all, or whether in all truth I now see the human race as a half-dozen-billion foregone conclusions asking me to bow politely in keeping with an arbitrary behavioral coda that suggests the underlying presence of a collective kind of insanity.

Why, exactly, is life important, suffering bad, poverty hurtful, or liberty desirable? Why anything? I know that these are dangerous, simplistic, and un”help”fully nihilistic questions. But no-one seems able to answer them anyway. Why, exactly, shouldn’t I shoot a room full of coffee shop customers, either with paintballs, a camera, or a shotgun? Why, exactly, shouldn’t I do the same to myself?

Why shouldn’t I set myself on fire in the middle of a lake or tie myself to railroad tracks while covered with a metal ramp to cause a derailment with my own body mass? Why shouldn’t I explode a bomb in an amusement park to send roller coasters flying through space in the way they seem to want to do so badly?

What, exactly, has Bin Laden done that’s so wrong, or Jimmy Carter done that’s so right?

Once you stop cheering for a team, the game is rather uninteresting and ridiculous. And if you’re not really playing in the game or playing for any side, the selection of a team as your own champion is really, at the heart of things, arbitrary and capricious.

The one remaining genre of art, of the avant-garde, that has been woefully underdone is the one that involves wanton mass manipulation or termination of human lives. It has been done to some extent (9/11 for example), but it is the one avenue in representation and exposition that has not yet degenerated into pure advertising and simulacra.

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