It used to feel like every moment cried out for something to be said that has been left unsaid. As if there was a need to comment on elephants in rooms, injustices, unnecessary evils, which if pointed out would be dealt with. So I said them sometimes, and found catharsis in the moment, but later would be left in much the same shape, in the same way the situations remained unchanged... I remained unchanged. What does it matter what is said, or is left unsaid, when words have no power and only serve as the narrative of the impulses of those with power and those who wish they had some? Thats what I wanted. I wanted power to effect change. I spoke when the pain of being unempowered grew too great. Everyone already knows whats wrong, thats what I was neglecting. Or rather, what I failed to see was that those who knew didnt care, and those who cared knew not what to do. I care, and I dont know what to do. Others care, they dont know what to do either. When we dont know what to do we often return to old habits, thoughtless actions which constitute a life when you chain enough of them together. The habit of going to work, the habit of surviving, the habit of voting and celebrating our new masters, the habit of submission in all its many forms justified, as it is, by the greater good, by the utility of the situation, despite that rationalization being nothing more than a vehicle for the inclinations of those with power (as Nietzsche rightly pointed out). My habit has been to shriek out poorly cobbled together observations of what seems wrong to me. I have been reduced to habit in the absence of any real means of obtaining power that wouldnt just serve to promote the status quo in the end. Its cynical, thats true, and hypocritical because I dont personally abide cynicism, but perhaps people who are left without any good options in sight always retreat into one thing or another. For some of us our retreat leads to cynicism, and for others it leads to leaps of faith and religious proclamations when, really, all we western thinkers, we all want the same thing, to remake the world in our own image, and these things we retreat into are how we cope with our lack of ability. That none of us succeeds is our greatest source of despair. Not even a president gets to remake the world. But thats what is fair, we say. A world where no one is satisfied is what is fair, because thats what is best for all people. What a worthy sacrifice, the neutering of our wills is. I mean, this is all so great, right? Were all living that dream, that American dream, arent we? Oh, there I go again, starting to retreat into old habits. In this way I have a great kinship with The Underground Man. In this way, maybe we all do.
Posted on: Fri, 22 Aug 2014 07:34:42 +0000
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