As always, more. As always, more of the same.
12 year old scotch. 4 year old soda. Mixin’ to win.
Are lies better up close?
And to think that we let him believe that it was all over. And that he went on believing so long after any sensible person would have given up hope and hung themselves with a good bit of rope from that propitiously placed tree. There was so much riding on that game. Who knew that it would all end like this? I would have killed him years ago if I had known it would have made that kind of difference. You know, the kind that would have worked out well for me. I would have. If I had known. So many things that would have been if only they would have been.
I was trying to think deep thoughts, ones with universal significance, &c. And I found that I really couldn’t. Or rather, I could, but I couldn’t make myself care. I know a good part of the issue is that all those “big ideas” are all “out there” happening to other people. I have never been to war or killed a man; been to prison or on the receiving end of the justice system. So those issues don’t much concern me. I am of the majority and so whatever issues of the minority that apply to me are those that I have chosen to bring upon myself, and thus do not mind. Accidents of birth and what have you. I’m too young for social security or politics (especially to care about them or think they are legitimate, I’ll need to be far more senile before that happens) and I am relatively too healthy to overly concern myself with health insurance, much less health care for other people. All those problems are happening to other people. Some near some far some I know some I don’t. And though I live below the poverty line and all of that shit, I just don’t fucking care. Maybe it is because I have never faced those problems, that I have never seen the value in being part of the system or the suffering in being excluded from the system. Maybe it is all those things. But how does that change the fact that I don’t care about other people? I suppose I might care about the problems if they were my problems. But my problems roughly extend from the fact that I don’t like to work yet have to, that I am really lazy, and that I am easily bored. Aside from that my life is so ridiculously dull as to be a caricature. And it would be, if only I wasn’t so certain that nearly everyone else’s lives are just as dull and unchanging as mine. After all, caring about problems that can’t be solved doesn’t solve them any more than ignoring them because they are someone else’s problems. Life goes on without us whether we are paying attention to it or not. Garandō had the way of it.
You see, in my “Allegory of the Cave,” I don’t go back to help.
“Use, Captain? If by use you mean filling our bellies or our purses, I confess it will be no use at all.”
- Reepicheep, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
“It’s all self-mutilation when you’re the only character in the story.”
- Usko, Self-Non-Determinism and Her Opponents