so I’m browsing here at 3:00 after watching children of men and listening to “in the court of the crimson king.” look over to the side, see this ad.
this is what disturbs me about the state of society so much. tell me, can you guess what NOTW means? Not of this World, baby. that’s right. you’re going to prove to everyone that you belong to the spiritual world, that the material considerations around you are only a small part of the overall reality which we humans can only dimly see till death. how? by buying clothing and getting tattoos that tell everyone.
disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.
I’m in a constant struggle to not fall into the easy, prepackaged, mask-and-lip-service Christianity that seems to beset us in an age where every solution is bought. I never seem to get it right, and my best days are an embarrassing when I look back at them. I fail so hard to do the right things. I end up backstabbing, fleeing from personal connection, lying, entering shallow relationships and drowning in inactivity because I feel like if I give any of myself away I’ll be bled out and tossed aside, lost to this world’s consumption. I don’t want to be a product. I don’t want to fit the mold. I don’t want to be part of anything, because every group sells out in some way. I can’t stand it when people say I remind them of someone stereotypical, because it means I’ve failed to leave my mark on their life. “you’re just like so-and-so!” thanks a lot, here I thought I was a person, but I’m just an ill-copied memory to you.
people don’t want to be themselves a lot of the time, it seems. we all jump to the preconceived rolls that stand ready and waiting for us, so that we can rely on the same old tired lines, unafraid that something unexpected, something unique will happen. we want that brand to tell us how to think, how to behave, how to look, what to say next, what to love, what to hate, what to agree with, what to shun. now, even liking things others don’t like is a subculture – this is why I hate hipsters so much. it’s just one more scene, one too close to home for those who want to live their own lives. they attach these stereotypes to supposed originality that certainly doesn’t allow for actual exploration and interest – no, you have to find things that fit the criteria of yet another mask over the individual.
of course, nearly no one in this day and age of branded lifestyle wants to think about right and wrong beyond the talking points of whatever subculture and viewpoint you fall into. whenever I think I’m going to have an interesting conversation about whichever viewpoint with anyone, it seems to devolve into the same phrases I’ve seen on tv and read in papers or noted on websites. you’re rolling along in a discussion and suddenly a glaze comes over your companion as they spew out some tired mantra that flows their mouths about as smoothly as oil. it’s been polished by its incessant use till it slips through everyone’s mind effortlessly, and sometimes I wonder if people realize how alien these mantras seem as they corrode through the speaker’s person-hood. it doesn’t matter whether I agree with the position touted or not, it’s all propaganda, that shambling, headless monstrosity that destroys the mind and leaves a skull made of wax and clay.
please, don’t give in. be yourself. leave your rough edges. don’t cake your face with makeup. littering yourself with piercings and tattoos is the same thing as wearing a suit and tie every day, you’re just buying a different brand. your contempt for the corporate nature of america is skin deep, because you surround yourself with it in so many ways. your rebellion means nothing. my dad always calls it “rage against the machine… sponsored by pepsi.” alternatively, if you’ve bought into the allure of riches and want to be that guy in the suit, think about how you reinforce the division among the classes. there’s a place and time for opulence, but america is all party, all the time. you can be wealthy without the extravagance, and I’m not talking the fake charity espoused by the brangelinas and bonos of the world.
“you don’t know me! you don’t know what I’m going through! you don’t know what I’m really like on the inside!” maybe I do see what’s on the inside, and it’s inconsequential because you never let it out. you’ve picked the way you are on the outside, and if you expect people not to judge you on that, you’re an irresponsible fool, and you deserve what you’re getting. I deserve what I’m getting, too. I’d rather be judged for being off my rocker than being judged as just one more face in the crowd.
I honestly don’t know how you can escape from it. I’m just as guilty of buying into the working class branding as others are of the gangsta rap drivel, but honestly, the people who are the least branded are far more working class than me. the people who barely make enough to survive. I dunno. I think stuff owns you as much as you own it. how much of your stuff do you use and enjoy for real, and how much of it do you go through the motions with? do you need an ipod? do you need that new touch screen phone just to play games on and constantly ignore the people you’re with by texting? the new clothes at every notice, the cars, the instruments you never play, the games and systems that waste your life, the booze and food you shovel down, hell, even friendships and relationships of convenience, all shackles that hold you down. when was the last time you made your own entertainment instead of consuming it?
I know I’m crazy. I know you’re enjoying life and I’m not. you’re probably right that I should “just live” and have fun along with everyone else, but I just can’t blind myself to this all around us. I don’t think I want to be happy if it means buying in and selling out.
God, I want out, out, out, out, out. please do something to me. shatter my world so I have to step up to the plate. land me in the slums in india without a lifeline and force me to make my life into something. anything but this creeping death, the suburban strangle-hold on everything that used to be wild, the city’s pallor and wearying treadmills, the complacency and predictability of the human race. I know we all want to feel something real. I know we all want someone to reach out and really touch our lives. I know a lot of people I wish I had the courage to get closer to, but I just can’t get a hold of the fear that they’ll just drop me for the preprocessed, self-sustaining cancer of sameness and cohesion in society. I don’t want my faith in people dropped any lower. I want to believe you’re reading this and have already thrown your cookie cutter life away, that you’re two steps ahead of me and running into the sunlight, finally freeing yourself of your shackles.
please keep running. I believe we can change. I believe we can make it. I am perpetually crushed, but even more hopeful. I know you can make it.