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cynicism

The Product

Society is an illusion, an artifice: a construct. It is the lever that keeps those in power comfortable. It creates order, it creates (or at least encourages) homogeneity, to keep its unstable mass neatly boxed and packaged. It sells luxury, novelty, entertainment and a myriad of non-essential trivialities upon which its users become hopelessly, unwittingly dependent, the administration of which lies with the organisations in power (be they government or financial/corporate).
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Success is…?

I think I consider myself an unsuccessful person in most respects. I’m always wary of buying into someone else’s subjective value system; our government would, no doubt, love to ram their values down all our throats forcibly if that were possible. I’m trying to define success on a personal level that means something to me.

Trouble is, even on my own terms, I can’t find much from my current or past life that would qualify as successful (or even especially rewarding, which is probably the best kind of success of all). I’ve wasted half my life treading water. I think my recent birthday still troubles me on that level.

I don’t think I relate to other people very well. Most people are very facile at pretending they’re okay (most of the time), really well adjusted and comfortable, etc. I’m not sure it’s possible for any of us to be genuinely comfortable in this intense, madhouse environment we’re living in. We’ve abandoned almost everything that constituted our default existence, and such profound artificiality can’t possibly hold together coherently. Well, I mean, it doesn’t! I think society is more culturally divided than it ever was, even though more people are straining to pretend otherwise. (Usually, alas, to flatter their own egos rather than to seek genuine change.)
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The Meaning of Life: Part 364

I had my fifth ‘mentoring’ session at the Jobcentre yesterday. The first one was back on March 19th.

At my previous appointment, two weeks ago, my mentor had been delving into ambition in a general sense. He told me he felt I was very intelligent and had a lot to offer (although, exactly what, he couldn’t specify). At one point he said, ‘Maybe you’d just like to meet Mr. Right, get married and have babies.’ (He added, ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’) This comment amused me, really, and yet it did have something—I really don’t think I am all that ambitious per se. I’ve only genuinely realised that in the last couple of years.
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Too Much Analysis

I’ve been thinking about human interaction a bit. Bad idea. Thinking usually ends up troubling me.

Sometimes, it seems to me that a lot of human interaction is bullshit. You pretend to feel better than you really do whenever possible, pretend to be more interesting than you think you really are, and generally ‘sell’ yourself. I’m absolutely useless at doing this. You’d think, understanding the theory, I might not be quite so pathetic at it—then again, part of the problem is understanding it, because then you start to question its futility or dishonesty and open another massive can of worms. Oboy. Too much time on my hands = too much analysis.

Work situation… a brief rant…
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Christmas Approaches

I got pretty bummed out yesterday, but it was just over general stuff. Nothing major. Mom was in out-patients briefly, to have a couple of skin cancers removed… not serious, just an unfortunate side-effect of the drugs she takes as a transplant patient. (Kidney transplant, 1990.)

Today, we watched the 1956 Moby Dick movie on Channel 4. I generally don’t watch afternoon films, but I’d actually never seen this one. It was directed by John Huston, screenplay by Ray Bradbury. Anyhow, glad I finally saw it. Gregory Peck—who I’ve always had immense admiration for—was typically brilliant as Ahab. And it reminded me that I’d like to see To Kill a Mockingbird again sometime, as I hardly remember anything about it (I saw it a long time ago). Harper Lee’s original novel is excellent, and would probably be in my top ten list if I thought there was any sense in making in such things.
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Creativity Redux

More on creative stuff (see May 26th). It’s hard to express my feelings on it, since they’re so changeable. But I think the basic thrust is that when I try to pressure myself into writing with the purpose of making money in mind, the enjoyment factor does drain away, completely… so that it’s no longer so easy for me to see how I feel about it at all… the money thing confuses the issue, confuses my feelings, and compounds my cynicism about the whole thing, not to mention my sense of being a failure.

*sigh* I think it’s far too complicated to unravel properly, to be honest.

Whatever the case, I seem to be not even trying at the moment. Maybe something will come to me, maybe it won’t. But I reckon I should let it come naturally.
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Karaoke Queen

I got asked to a pub last night where there was some karaoke going on. I don’t have a single clue why I bothered, because the mere concept is depressing—this is the kind of hopeless naffness you get sucked into when you don’t have a life. And sure enough, a parade of ageing and not-so-ageing exhibitionists mounted the stage and murdered a stream of 30-year-old songs that were crap to begin with.
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