So, I recorded this yesterday, and you know I was just thinking about the amount of time we devote to avoiding reality. I am sure it is the vast majority of our lifetimes if you’re honest about it. Even something like hoping against hope your kid will be something special and notable, instead of what the odds say they most likely will be. Hope-dope is very cheap and plentiful. Well, it isn’t really cheap if you count the collateral costs.
But wait, is that your fault, that the odds rule instead of your hope?
Oh yeah, it’s your fault. You went and had a kid, or several, and did not really think about how you were going to provide them the means (including the genetic propensities) to be a superhero. And if they’re not going to be a superhero, conquering everything before them because obviously they were brought up and brought out right, what is the point of their existence at all?
That is what the vast majority of regular, normal folk, possessed of nothing anyone could mistake for a super-heroical characteristic, nevertheless believe is their right, and believe is the obligation of their nation and everyone they encounter in life to acknowledge and enable.
And then life keeps on happening like it does, where your individual and collective efforts produce—this!—and naturally you are gonna need to escape into a very deep dose of unreality, indeed antagonistically anti-reality, to cope with the burgeoning feelings that you and your lives don’t matter, not even to yourselves. That doesn’t feel so good. So, you imagine yourself living in another with another and thoroughly loved and affirmed by a whole fake planet and universe of another…and another…and another. It is a petty pace of creeps in and out of the revolving door of expectation and deep frustration.
Huh?
Anyway, I think one effect of this passionate addiction to fantasy is that it gives people a means to evade the obligations of painful realities such as the one we are in, which for most Americans has not yet become all that painful, unless you have a problem about living in a country getting stupider and viler by the day.
But I do not think most Americans do have a problem, worth suffering any real pain over, about that reality. That is true because isn’t the true measure of success in this life one’s adaptability? And ability to survive? And thriving interest in wastebasketing one’s waddable supply of morality—which is not likely to pay you any interest or dividends, is it?
And it certainly isn’t going to help your kids get into Goose Step University, which will soon be the only one there is, not if you’re out there making a scene about how Donald Trump is just the worst ever. Because they are watching. All of you. They control your horizontal. They control your vertical. They can make your life very difficult.
Obviously, if Trump can just declare Bruce Springsteen “overrated” and then millions of Americans will believe that because Fearless Leader adds that to their official belief-book, he can totally destroy you if you speak up and agree with Bruce that Trump is a treasonously evil piece of shit.
So, better to stick the spike of fantasy right back into your veins, huh?
And kick back and just forget all your troubles.
Or hey, maybe, maybe even…try a little MAGA faith. I think you snort that like cheap meth. It burns a little (OK, a lot) and if you ever had any personal integrity, or brain cells you were particularly fond of, all that will be burned out of you in no time. But then it’s just like Trump says. You’re sitting with the winners. You’re chanting for all those Mexican children to be tortured to death in El Salvador, because you know they’ll all natural-born drug-dealers and rapists, and that special glow of whitely belonging to something really—uh—powerfully in everybody’s face—spreads all over you.
And you’re like—this is better.
Certainly better than how most people who resist evil shit like this end up. In prison and in graves.
Besides, I think they’ve determined cold-cuts are bad for you anyway. So who really wants or needs cold turkey, and red pills?
And yeah, I know, the MAGAs claims to have red pills too. Of course they do. And the fact they were all manufactured at the blue-pill factory in someplace like Belarus shouldn’t turn you into a cynical person. I mean, with Trump’s tariff scheme, that factory should be reshoring to Texas any day now.
More jobs!
We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
We trust that sleep will be unconscious. But what if it isn’t? What if it is an eternal performance review, reminding you of what good you could have done, but now have lost the power to do?
That would be some totally well-deserved bullshit, wouldn’t it?
