Wednesday, September 1, 2010

what three months of hell taught me 1

from the people who brought you: don't think about the ramifications of sharing every intimate detail of your life...

Every Achilles has his heel.

So you're practically invulnerable, devastatingly handsome and got balls of steel? (guilty as charged) Big deal, that's nothing a well placed arrow can't fix. It's probably bad form to reveal your weakness whatever the circumstance, but this is the age of the internet and I am a millenial. It feels only appropriate then that I let it all hang out, you know, flapping in the wind as it were, exposed in all its vulnerable glory. I'm talking about my heel people. My heel. Every ubermensch has his kryptonite. I suppose I have many, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I am in possession of a hermetically sealed bubble. It is incredibly handy for repelling any and all unwanted social interaction. Even stone walls get shaky when they see me coming. That's how impenetrable my defense is. Of course in public, I can't overtly draw attention to my super power, that would shatter the illusion of normality. So I sprinkle the barren wasteland of my everyday interactions with sparse helpings of convivial gestures, verbal or otherwise (trying to be more real lately after The Event That Will Not Be Named). Schopenhauer lamented: "We forfeit three-fourths of ourselves in order to be like other people."

Being an island unto yourself doesn't just mean that you get to make friends with volleyballs, it also means you're crazy. Just think I could be living in a cave, but instead I'm an eating, shitting, fire breathing 21 century everyman, enjoying the privileges afforded by an economic system built on the backs of slaves and the blood of innocents. Everything is corrupt to some degree I suppose. Entropy will sneak up on you whether you're ready or not. I make a special point to buy free range eggs, but I wont even think twice about buying cage produced Air Jordan's if my bank account is agreeable. Weird. Anyway, the point is that the amenities of modernity are made possible by a vast social structure that extends far beyond the dimensions of my own pitiful capabilities. Stuff, whether cage produced or not, comes from other people. How nice of them.

Is it time to deactivate the misanthropic powered force field yet? Wait. Why does it even exist in the first place?


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