Then the memes will begin. They will be relentless, and relentlessly similar, and I will ignore them just as I ignore 99% of the feel-good BS that no one I want to know is losing their shit over.
Entire divisions of society are burning with ‘wisdom’ and the presumption they’re fit to give advice on writing or life.
Day, after day, after motherfucking day.
The impetus behind the revolution is that the enlightened masses need only fix everyone else for the world to be okay—Jesus, it will be a goddamned utopia.
So long as there’s a consensus over whose enlightenment is most sincere. Should we fail at that, well, to hell with revolution and up with war.
These wandering packs of modernity are justified, motivated, and special in identical ways and rarely require a deep, in-line read.
You can skim over entire blocks of people as smoothly as you skim over the boring parts of boring books. Unless they’re spamming your Facebook wall with their wisdom, in which case you have to make the effort to lock that shit down.
Some days I’m no exception. Some days I’m surprised how easily I regurgitate the patter when it suits me. Hell, I can downright excel at it. It’s alarming how easy it is to fall into. Books and writing are my personal go-to for dislodging my head from my ass whilst inoculating myself against the sweet sting of wide-spread acceptance.
Fuck the revolution. There are few revolutionaries left.
And forget alcohol—a big pile of bullshit is the best way to grease social wheels and garner influence. Who knew?
Guess I better put down the bottle and head back to the farm…
There’s something soothing about joining a crowd. For a while. Until you realize that there’s a pissing contest for everything: health, youthfulness, vitality, optimally travelled, most accomplished, happiest, zaniest, most energized and sanitized and institutionalized.
A repeating moment in my life serves as a reminder of the futility of ‘wisdom’ divorced from integrity: people who sit on their asses hour after hour, day after day, and somehow see fit to advise on my workout habits.
All the fucking time.
No problem; I’m not judging. But some of these people are judging me. That’s okay—their health and lifestyle wisdom is not. Neither is their obsession with insisting that all that exercise is going to kill me.
Unlike the doughnut stuffed in their sedentary faces, for example.
And yeah, writing is an impossible dream that few people accomplish. I know this already. I’ve had several conversations with myself and we all agree that the best dreams of all are the ones that keep you up at night sweating.
I spend a great deal of time shaking with doubt and struggling with the temptation to give it up all for good this time, to create an easy life with an easy trajectory that will lead to an easy internal suicide.
In fact—I would like to shake a little less, so maybe we could institutionalize a no-fear rule into the revolution?
Actually, forget it. I don’t need career advice, no matter how you feel about drunken, narcissistic writers refusing to join your orgy of insta-gratification over the hottest bliss-of-the-moment movement.
Yes, life has devolved into a horrible, corporate context. Not horrible because something in particular is wrong but because entire existences have devolved into a tedious habit that does indeed make death seem like the last great adventure.
Too bad we don’t have freedom of choice or the ability to carve a path unmolested by the powers that be.
And speaking of waiting—why do we need someone else to lead the charge? Start now, sweetheart–it isn’t truly rebellious if you need someone else to mandate or approve of it.
May as well start building a new life between shifts. Put down the remote and get to work. That’s the biggest revolution of all—the realization that maybe the things that drive you nuts and suck the life out of you day after day can be rendered temporary.
If you work hard enough. Maybe. But maybe is still a step up from the absolute ‘no’ concomitant with stagnation.
Most people have zero understanding of what they’re calling for or what the result would be if they succeeded in changing the world.
It’s wise to practice insurgence in your private life before trying to induce it in others. Avoiding destructive testing of ideals in favor of ‘being in the moment’ or ‘finding an authentic self’ is a soft way to live.
Until you know how to hustle and survive; until you are in full control of your emotional faculties in the face of challenge, dissent, hardship, well, you may want to postpone the revolution.
If you can’t handle the world we live in now—if you haven’t mastered it or yourself to some degree—good luck with the zombie apocalypse.
Treating responsibility like an avoidable disease produces interesting consequences. The boundaries of joy and freedom become so strict and limiting that dissatisfaction is all but guaranteed.
Somebody else’s revolution may be televised but I’ll be too busy to watch.