Friday, September 26, 2008

Pot Smoker Kills Dozens

And it is nevertheless romantic to be one of the disillusioned, unaffected, young American intelligentsia. Vitamin C supplements may do me good, but if the lid is too annoying to open, I’ll just watch TV. I was told I could be anything, but they left out the “within reason” part. For the most part it is true: I can be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a politician. But if it’s “anything”, I’d like to be the next messiah, or the leader of the world revolution (or at least on the board), or God. Failing this, how can I just settle on a career? I am very much against “settling”. Dreams of Rock-Stardom and seducing beautiful women around the world hang over me as unyieldingly as a giant, falling, unhappy rock—I cannot refuse. To become a mere just-another-guy, no matter how “successful” or content, is an impossible caveat. But there it is: unspoken, unthought, immanent. (We believers in the individual: how silly of us!) “You can be anything, within reason”. Its authority is absolute. And I know it. I tell myself I ought to have faith in mediocrity! I tell myself that there is a new magic somewhere deep inside our mass culture, a tiny kernel that redeems an otherwise faceless and repetitive system. Where is greatness? How can I distinguish myself from everyone and be remembered by all history? Find that kernel. Descend into the depths of the collective zombie and uncover, beneath it all, that cantankerous, malignant pearl called Salvation, Everlasting Fame.

And so I smoke pot, wake up late, do nothing. Earlier I smoked a joint sitting on my windowsill. I flicked the roach, still burning, into the street below. The mind caught it, and, with a series of acrobatic maneuvers, carried it under the hood of a car. Almost immediately smoke began to billow out from within. Minutes later the car exploded, hurling burning debris onto the apartment complex across the street. The wind gave life to the flames and before the fire brigade could even arrive the building had burned completely to the ground. Dozens were killed.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

This is a rant

How about comparative politics. Policy is in the air these days, forgive me!, so the topic is a-pro-pos. I have monarchist leanings, and they came after all first, so let's start there. A crazy, inbred few ruled over those monarchies. (This terrible aristocracy.) All they made were bad decisions; and the people--who had no freedom--suffered always for it. Democracy? Thank god for democracy! Now many crazy inbreds rule, the few have been reduced to the majority, and we all suffer for it. Majority, minority: these are a joke, since we have only one policy. The exception should be the rule! A policy of exceptions. When you color something black against white, gray immediatly creeps in. Gray is the border between black and white, and it is disputed. This gray essentially defines a battleground. But when we do not color it black against white, the gray is unlimited, and there is no black\white battleground. A gray system means means the participation of the fewest: those who have a well educated and compassionate opinion. The two tend to work against each other, and merely for this reason it is necessary it have them both.

Ironically, monarchies appear to be the more able of the two to accomplish this. It would be easier, after all, to concentrate all one's efforts on raising a few educated and compassionate individuals than on raising many. And the rest would probably lead better lives for it. Bad decisions! No freedom! Pfah! We make far worse decisions and we have far less freedom! We are not restricted by something as arbitrary as blood, but we are restricted by arbirary conflicts of ideals. The individual cannot manipulate the system as once was possible. Freedom is not having the choice to take drugs or not--or vote--it's the ability of a single player to influence, with his actions, the system as a whole. In a sense therefore, freedom already does not and cannot exist. We live in an age of think tanks, research teams and boards of directors. An individual has no direct influence. Ideals mislead their devotees into narrow mindedness and exclusivity. Even the ideals of love and bridge-building find themselves in constant struggle with those of racism and brutality. One enlists oneself for one side or the other, and then finds oneself in both camps. Would it not be far better to embrace our ugly truths, and seek, in all cases, reconciliation?

Perhaps monarchies had this as well: sitting by the king's sickbed; or hiding the traces of some depraved, sexual obsession. The king is the king after all; and as a man he must be accepted.