Human beings must be part-chameleon. Or shape-shifters. Either that or most of us are liars swimming in moralistic-flavored denial.
Me? I’m pretty lame at changing my brain to fit the template. I’ve tried at various points to adapt to advance personal causes among banality-licking cretins. Doing so got me hooked on booze and psychedelics.
Not all bad, I guess.
That’s a lifetime ago, though. Now, armed with hindsight while kamikaze realities hurtle forward via pandemics, fake news, and plutocratic psychopaths, I find it very hard to contemplate living any other way than the silly little introvert that I am.
I mean, sure, I’m armed with decently developed defense mechanisms: I can lie with a smile, emotionally annihilate people, and reduce roundtable discussion to void-laden insignificance with a sentence. Hell, a phrase.
But I don’t screw with people because I’m decent. My cardinal disposition is to see the best in folks, despite them often leaving me existentially exasperated. Yes, I’ve lived through my share of emotional armageddons, physical ruin, and financial instability catalyzed by people far uglier, meaner, and more decrepit than me.
And still I won’t change my brain to fit the template.
But… what bluddy template?
Materialism: the idea that stuff makes an individual, who, in turn, creates an empire, micro through macro.
Materialism: the mantra that’s brought the world to its knees.
Materialism: The destruction of nature at the advancement of capitalism. The dissolution of nuclear families to enable this. The rich getting richer while the poor die in the gutter without even getting a chance (due to toxic air haze) to wish upon a star.
From my side, give me fresh air, clean water, the occasional breeze, and the love of family. Along with sufficient free time to enjoy my blessings and pay them forward as best as possible, this is earthbound nirvana.
Mine is a humble goal. But, in a world doped up on a Kafka-sized nightmare revolving around an actualized version of The Emperor’s New Clothes, it’s as easy to achieve this as it is to stay contented.
***
Sometimes I dream I’m an idiot, wallowing blindly in a mellifluous, denial-laden featherbed located diametrically opposite from my accrued cynicism.
What a sweet, sweet dream.