hopelesshappiness.com

I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations—one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it—you will regret both.” --Soren Kierkegaard.

And I will look and be the fool doing either. Is it emotion that carries the day? Or conviction? Or maybe the need to win? Or perhaps groupthink? Certainly not reason? And especially not reason based on new learning? Individual reason beyond the reach of my passion, or inconsistent with how I’ve always done it, or in a losing effort, or outside the comfort of my cohort will only heighten uncertainty and publicly expose regret. Whereas strong feelings, tradition, winning, and the madding crowd serve to imprison regret deep inside; or sometimes just below the surface, but hidden, nonetheless.

Is this why I value anger? Does it temper regret? Or overpower regret? To an extent where I can acknowledge regret and to where I can think for myself? Outside the box? I used to have a very close relationship with pride. I believed “I can do this and I am going to show the world.” But in more recent years, having discovered “I don't know” and “the World doesn't care” (though pride still hangs about) anger has come to the front. It is a welcome change. I believe anger is a more realistic, productive, reasonable characteristic of Humanity than pride or any of a number of other human frailties.

I believe:

1. To be human is to be weak.
2. Some weakness is necessary for regret.
3. Some regret is necessary for uncertainty.
4. Uncertainty is necessary for reasoning.
5. Reasoning is necessary for proximity to Truth.
6. Proximity to Truth is necessary for anger.
7. Anger is necessary for Justice.
8. Justice is necessary for survival.
9. Survival is necessary.

I first acknowledge and reconcile my human weakness, and then find personal strength to fight against its ever-present potential for debilitation.

Some believe:

1. To be a human is to be strong, (and to be superior is to be “me”).
2. Superior strength is necessary for certainty.
3. Certainty is necessary for confidence.
4. Confidence is necessary for political success; (i.e. power on any front in any arena).
5. Political success is necessary for legislation.
6. Legislation is necessary for judgement.
7. Judgement is necessary for justification.
8. Justification is necessary for oppression.
9. Oppression is death.

Those who believe that to be a human is to be strong (and superior) first hide and/or ignore any weakness, then also ignore the resulting oppression and do not see that very same oppression sneaking up behind them. By the time they turn around, I am afraid it will be too late.

When an individual's inhumanity eclipses their humanity, they have become a tyrant. When Humanity's inhumanity eclipses our humanity we will have become (for all intents and purposes) extinct. Are we there yet? Can you hear me now? There have always been pockets of humanity to billow and buoy Humanity. But in recent decades, due to population multiplied and power extrapolated and gaps widened, we are being smothered by fire and earth and sea. Pockets are fewer; and smaller.

Am I losing faith?

The thought saddens me. Tears have welled, shoulders drooped, head slowly shaking back and forth, lips in a tight grimace. In recent years I have maintained a faith through new learning; reassurance that there are other like-minded reasonable individuals with (far more) expertise (than me) who will help to pull us through. I have expressed a faith in our young people to also recognize this expertise for the saving grace that I (still want to) believe it can be. But this expertise, proficiency, competence, ability and reason is shouted down, smothered by political success, tradition, greed, fervor and blind stupidity. And though shouting back appears to only deepen the entrenchment, anger is necessary for Justice. I will not just stand by and watch.

Perhaps my Anger is my last hold on faith. So if I let go of my anger I am afraid my inhumanity will overtake my humanity. For the moment, I will continue to hold on. For the moment, I will continue to shout; reasonably. For the moment…

From urge, urgency, to devour, ravenously, crunching bones, grinding gristle, with a greasy smile and a promise, for the greater good. There is no justification.

There. Is. No. Justification.

Greater good is subjective and driven by power.

Those of us who believe we are not being devoured are so blinded by pettiness and so distracted by our individual effort to devour (so as to maintain belief), that we have no choice but to go along with the greater good du jour.

Those of us who realize we are being devoured are in such pain that we have no choice but to be devoured.

Though preparation methods, from low and slow to boil and broil, should serve as warning, many are still surprised when the tasting and grinding and crunching begin; and after the initial surprise, some choose to deny it is happening at all.

Low and slow is bureaucracy.

Boil and broil can take many forms including policing and prisons.

All for the greater good.

Oh my heart. It sings, and dances, and cries crimson tears. Metaphorically? Literally? Lyrically? Does it matter?

Many are anxious for a return to normal. For some that means paycheck-to-paycheck, or no paycheck and the associated stigma; late fees; high interest rates; added unnavigable bureaucracy; eviction notices; whispers; finger-pointing; implicit; explicit; crunching; grinding. This not-so-minority underclass is necessary to maintain the system; to maintain belief; to return to normal. This not-so-minority underclass is necessary for the greater good.

It is past time to rethink the greater good. But, this is America.

A sudden flurry of activity surrounding a new federal holiday. It is a poor substitute for reparations. It is a baby step at a time when we need giant steps. But, this is America.

Words. Magical. Moving. Flowing. Words. As I walk from the edge of forever into the blackberry kaopotatocake ice cream salad patch and then to the end of a long line of ex tuber ants I ponder the meaning of lemonade. What kind of ice cream!? It looks like pistachio but tastes like chicken. A rather sugary sour milky chicken, but chicken nonetheless. It has to mean something. Right? If I think it, it is so. If I act on it, it is even more so. And if I build barricades and dig entrenchments to defend and protect it, then it must be Truth. Right? Yet I also see that much of what you think and act upon and defend and protect is utter nonsense! Foolishness! Balderdash! Poppycock! Which takes me back to the chicken. But there was no chicken! Only a taste of chicken. So is the chicken real? Another might say the ice cream tastes like alligator. But to me, alligator tastes like chicken. So does this confusion of differing tastes and doubling down on the chicken bring the chicken closer? Make it more solid? Or does it become more distant? More ephemeral? And when it melts? Will the taste linger? Will the memory last? What does ghost chicken taste like? I say the chicken is so! So that must be Truth! Right!? I don't have the time nor do I have the inclination, (which really means I just don't have the inclination), to discuss, examine, analyze your alligator. I have no desire to be a gator shrink. They would just come back from the sewers even bigger and more imposing. And where would that leave the chicken? Trust me. It's all about the chicken. Except when I say it's not. But it's never about the alligator! Unless, on some future lark I say it is. But why confuse things with another bird. It would have to be a whim. So a whim it is. And here I go. It's all about the alligator. Okay. Done. It's always been about the chicken. And always will be. The alligator was a very short-lived fancy. A momentary appeasement. Gone! Begone! Back to the sewer! Down the toilet! Chicken rules! Which takes me back to poppycock. And a pox on both my houses! I have built two houses. One in my mind and one that is my body. No, the heart is not a home of its own; it is a room in the house in my mind; and a different cluttered unkempt room in the house that is my body. The intellect and the spirit? More rooms in my mind. This house in my mind is haunted and cursed with passages that lead to nowhere and stairways that end in darkness. There are some rooms though that are full of life and curiosity and celebration and that hint at the possibility of joy. The house that is my body is in some disrepair; neglected and worn; soon to be abandoned. There is a pox on both my houses. Everything leads to the chicken. The profundity of lemonade. Value. Objectively I am worth 26.9% of the median and less than 4% of the sovereign malefactor. Subjectively, according to me, I am worth much more, but because my appraisal is worth nothing, I am forced to fall back on words and long walks from the edge of forever. Will the darkness lead to light? Or will I step off the landing into a splintered hardwood landscape of lost-and-forever darkness? Or will I step into a falling-forever abyss punctuated by brief glimpses of what-might-have-been? Yes-No? True-False? Multiple choice? Short answer? Essay? How do I salt my potato? Club soda and Gatorade. Two to one? Or fifty-fifty? The bus is a beautiful black-and-gold; if you like that sort of thing. Me? I prefer the wagon. Though I'm tempted by the sparkly nature of the Mardi-Gras floats. And the beastly bug eyes that peek out from behind the balustrade. What about those!? So many butts tossed alongside the road. Abandoned. Lost. Forgotten. Forlorn. Have you noticed there are a lot fewer lipstick-smeared butts than there used to be? That streak of red, or pink. Brazen. Insolent. As if to say “I was once loved.” A frozen block of red beans and rice unearthed from the deepest corner of my Arctic wasteland. A sun so bright I defy gravity. A darkness so complete I am stone. A freckled face so innocent I am (like a thin sheet of ice flying from the top of a speeding car) shattered. A world so twisted up I collapse into my innermost thoughts. A fire so hot my innermost thoughts (still unknown even to me) blister then blacken. From urge, urgency, to devour, ravenously, crunching bones, grinding gristle, with a greasy smile and a promise, for the greater good. And here we are. I don't want to be here. I told myself at the potato I would not go back to the chicken. I am tired of flogging the chicken. But it is fact that for a very short time the chicken was in the pot, now the chicken has flown the coop to once again socialize with other chickens in bigger pots and I am left (in this moment, by licking the sides of the pot) with the taste of an actual real chicken but soon must once again settle for the taste of ghost chicken. Brazen butts and sugary sour milk! The ex tuber ants? They are still waiting in line. Waiting for what? The bathroom! Of course! Waiting in line for the bathroom their mind is on only one thing. They are not thinking about the chicken or the greasy smile. They have to go to the bathroom then back to the blackberry kaopotatocake ice cream salad patch. No time for thuggish thoughts. No time for leafy lemon drops. No time to carry the turtle across the road. This is America.

I am sad. I am inspired. I am active; in my own way. I aspire to learn and grow; yet I do not know to what end. I see many (perhaps most, including and especially my self) rushing here and there in their importance. I see others hushed and still; stagnant? Have they given up? Or am I mistaking their acceptance, their conformity, their acknowledgement, their understanding, their tranquility, their quiescence, for submissiveness? Should I also allow life to drive me? Or should I continue to rush here and there in my (seemingly) futile attempts to drive life? To feed a delusion of control? To disregard and disrespect Life? If my Life could speak for itself, it would probably say, “Do what you want; I know where I’m going. And like it or not, I am taking you with me.” So is my Life one of futility? With a preordained end? If this is the case, or even if I am able to convince myself that my insignificance is significant, I don’t see that I have a choice but to live for the future. But then I must ask, what future? Whose future? My future? The future of my children? And their children? And their children? How far do I descend? To the future of Humanity? Or is the future of Humanity also a futile (or insignificant) endeavor? So maybe the future of some form of sentient Life? Or any form of sentient Life? The future of this planet? This universe? And if the future of all of these options is ultimately futile (or even merely insignificant), then (again) to what end are my efforts?

Freedom. Dignity. Comfort. Peace. Happiness. Purpose. Power. Strength. Clarity. Certainty. Control. Survival. Me. Us. All. What matters? To what end?

These are basic questions.

In an attempt to answer what matters following even one path above, if I am somehow convinced that the insignificance of Humanity is significant, I will extend my thought to ask Is it fair, is it just, that merely due to the lucky fact of when I came into this existence, I am ascendant? In a position of dominance? Controlling influence? Power? Interpreted as superiority? Preeminence? Do we have this backwards? Isn't the governing or controlling influence yet to come? Why must the past dictate the present, (which in the past was the future)? Shouldn't the future dictate today, (which in the future will be the past)? Semantically I would prefer to ascend to the future rather than descend into the future. As a species indifferent to semantics I believe we would prefer to ascend to the future rather than descend into the future. Yet here I am, belittling my descendants; dissing our future. And here we are, unthinkingly, governed by yesterday, misinterpreting today, neutralizing tomorrow.

Following this single thread, the answer to what matters, is, the future. We should act accordingly.

In the workplace, (at least in my workplace), I can tell how important someone thinks they are according to how much urgency their urgencies create. If that someone though extends their thought, they may come to see that it is not their individual importance as much as it is the perceived importance of their request and/or the perceived importance of their powerplace in the hierarchy. And if one continues to stretch that thought there may come a further realization that their thing is not as important as the attention that thing receives from others because of the others’ varying interpretations of powerplace and resolve. How often, for example, will a higher-level power create greater urgency to find a solution so this pain-in-the-ass someone will just go away? In reality, in this scenario, the original someone who made the request is not important, nor is the request. Instead, that original someone is a bully and a pain-in-the ass, and the request, (though possibly reasonable), is simply a pain-in-the-ass. This is an accurate depiction regardless of relative powerplace. For another example, how frequently do lower-level powers work on or accomplish a mandate just to get the pain-in-the-ass boss off their back. Am I saying that productivity in the workplace is driven by this combination of bullying and powerplace? I believe this conjoined factor is a pervasive and constant concern, but perhaps it does not drive productivity in all instances. For example again, when a higher-level power is occupied with bullying on a different front, I may be left with a degree of autonomy allowing for some bully-free, power-free personal production.

I would like to qualify a bit further by reminding myself that stated, reasonable and/or agreed-upon job responsibilities must be considered within this powerplace/bullying dynamic. To bully in the interest of prioritizing agreed-upon responsibilities is not as egregious as bullying for favor or ego or self-promotion or good causes or obvious diminishing returns or anything else for which a case can be made that it lies beyond the scope of those stated job responsibilities.

All that said, I think the conclusion I might draw is that I am most powerful, most important, and (probably in most cases) most productive when left on my own. So why is it important to me for others to see me as important; and powerful; and important. Additionally, I find myself in a bit of a conundrum when I say, “I want to save the world, now leave me alone.” I guess objectively then, as Superman, I want to be discovered and heard, and I want to influence others to act upon my thoughts, but I don't want to know when they do or even that they do? Maybe? But maybe not when I am wrong. One can learn a lot from their mistakes. But digging deeper, I realize that subjectively it would be difficult to avoid my human nature. It would be difficult to only hear about mistakes and not hear about and/or ask after successes. And even if I could, there is still a trade-off: 1) I might miss some potential for learning from my successes; and 2) due to my humanity, I might become discouraged and less productive with only negative feedback or with zero feedback. Damn my human nature. I guess I don't know what I want. I guess I need to find the best proportions of autonomy and socialization to both maximize beneficial productivity and sooth the savage breast that is my human nature. But that proportional balance (at least for me) changes daily. Some days I want to be left the hell alone, and some days I need more lovin'. Damn! Living is hard.

Maybe it is easier to not live by not thinking and not choosing and not learning and not growing. Or maybe I can justify my existence through the urgencies I create. But to live vicariously or as a pain-in-the-ass bully feels less instructive, less inspiring, less meaningful than to live independent of previous living. To this end in this particular circumstance: I have also found that when I am resistant or able to bully back there is a greater chance that the boss will find another front for their bully pulpit. What I must guard against is using this bully-back method for my own favor or ego or self-promotion or good causes. Each and every time I must ask, is the boss right? Recently, by asking this question I have identified a personal affinity for a head-down-barrel-ahead work ethic which (while very productive) encourages bully-back and discourages vision. Vision is an important tool but made more difficult when I am wearing my blinders; (fashionable though they may be). Bullies have very limited to zero vision.

Revised conclusion: though I am most powerful, most important, and (probably in most cases) most productive when left on my own, I am also more prone to limited vision thus potentially less likely to improve process.

Having lived as a bully I have learned that it helps me with my agenda; an agenda built upon a lifetime of entrenched learning. It is time to move on.