Like null-minded cattle in ever greater quantities we adore the individuals that stand out. Worse even, we enamoured ourselves to unrealistic expectations and/or lay a hereditary claim to land, defining borders only we ourselves can see. Through endless indoctrination passed on as the most common of activities such as futile sports events and international competition we re-enforce those boundaries by demeaning ourselves in the sight of the larger whole.
While in fact I am a great advocate of the implementation of a human hive-mind, unlocked our final potential through the diminishing of the individual, our current current is taking us in the wrong, and potentially harmful direction.
Switch on your infernally infested TV and see with your own eyes the decadent descent into fan-girl madness. Hordes of creatures clamouring to get as close as possible to whatever icon they chose to depict their inner desires. Worse even, these fools don their wicker suits wearing smiles that show an over-abundance of chromosomes before jumping through every ring of fire laid in their path, pretending their voice and unguided opinions have any resemblance to positive impacts.
How simple the answers and the show become when wearing unfledged glasses, peering through the mist of illusions and marketing. The basic idea behind the effective overmind is the realisation every human being is merely part of humanity. No single individual is worthy of praise or scolding, instead the race carries the potential as well as the punishment of the race’s own accomplishments and failures. Like ants carrying a year’s worth of food in endless lines, unaware of themselves, only the hive, we could march into a future that would actually allow the species to survive the doom we ourselves brought forth.
Instead, we’ve replaced it with adherence to hereditary or imaginary accomplishments. A few days ago I spoke to some people who seemed to be inherently proud of their country’s accomplishments, not to mention “their people’s” future possibilities. While in very low measurements I suppose I could find it in me to understand the need to belong and identify with a specific region of land and the people that hail from it, I failed to see the purpose of it.
With almost minimal effort we could transcend the ideals that were spoon-fed into our brains and subconscious and see ourselves from a distance. Divided we stand. For the somewhat slower people here, I mean patriotism and any kind of extremist fan behaviour.
When it comes down to it, there is no, nor can there be, any reason to proliferate our own nations and people in the ways we do. We revel in the victory of our nation’s – or region’s – team in whatever sports competition, only to show that ‘we’ are better than ‘them’. Alongside this sponsored madness comes the idolisation of sports figures and musicians or artists alike. We project our own feelings and disappointments and nurse them with someone else’s accomplishments, realising not that we are but the mirror that wipes itself clean.
This seems like a good point to point out a point which runs parallel to my previous points. I see no harm in liking, or maybe even a little more than liking, certain things. Whether it be sports, music, arts or anything else your twisted minds feels it can or should relate to. However, like often the case found with religion, moderation, nay, nihilistic moderation, is called for.
Realise with me, and through me, everything ends. Nothing matters, nothing you do will ever matter beyond the blink of a universal eye nor will anything you do be remembered beyond the lifespan of a satellite in space.
Use this, apply this, when conferring with yourself in your endless stupidity when you’re dumb-struck with infatuation for something temporary. Instead of revelling in ‘your’ people’s pride and accomplished facts – which as a funny side-dish are most often attained by trampling on others – look down on our entire species and perhaps realise you are nothing. Your individual pride, even the pride of the entirety of your people means nothing. Zero, nill, absolutely and completely nothing. That pride will not grant you immortality, it will not prevent you from ageing, nor will it stop your nation from crumbling into the decadent dust where all the other great and proud nations now lay; being stepped on by the ash-stained feet of the ones that come after us. Nothing.
On that broken and cracked path lay the same immoral references to music, arts and films. How gladly we idolise some actor or singer, painter or otherwise pretentious prick that depicts something from his or her own mind, seeking affirmation in the liking and love of others, the assimilation of opinions into their own cesspool of degrading perversion.
For the life of me I cannot understand, nor do I have much of a desire to do so, why we look up to someone who got lucky and thus popular. Being a word-smith I realise certain combinations of words and letters form such striking poetry – whether intentional or not – that we, even I, become entranced with every possible meaning and outcome of the spoken and written language. However, this does in no way warrants our behaviours which lead to points of icon-creation and far worse, identification-replacement.
This last point is what bothers me most whenever I happen to speak to one of those poor void-souls that have clamped themselves onto an idea, onto the marketing of a person. “But he is so handsome.”, “She is so talented.”, “It speaks to my soul.”, “I would give anything to be like that.”. In truth, there is no wrong to be found in either the specific professions mentioned here, nor the enjoyment of such execution. Take care though, the limits are visible, they are clear, we merely wish not to see them.
Film serves as a distraction more than inspiration. Music has conferred and dwindled down into masturbation of the artist’s own ego, and art has become the depiction of whatever insanity we can seem to appropriate and explain. What rests us to do is simply pack and move on. Pack up your ideas of glory, nations, borders, music, your ideas of what art is or isn’t, should or shouldn’t be, remember the heroes from your youthful guilty pleasures, of young and old, but remember your gaze does not belong in the skid-marked crotch of any individual.
If we are to ascend into what I know we can be, what many before me have said is to be our true destination, we should keep our gaze fixed on the horizon, or ourselves within the machinations of the universal mind we can all access. There is no destination for your decomposing body and soul, your place is nowhere. You are nothing and into nothing you will disappear, but the yellow brick road ever leads onwards to home, to a point where we can say ‘we didn’t do it, we haven’t even started, but we got there.’. We. Not him, not you, not I. We.
The simplest of words it is – we – but how often we place it in the wrong way. We is not whatever people you think you belong to. You are human, like the rest of us. In varying shapes, colours and origins, but nothing more shall we ever be.
Look beyond your own stupidity-enforced infatuations with whatever hype you are forced to believe now and realise that true potential cannot be found in the glorifying of any single individual, or even group. Then again, this is not some motivational speech to be processed and passed on, adding your own versions and opinions, adding and excavating whatever meaning you think you need to see in order to progress and your own version of you. Nihilistic moderation, the true uncaring nature we can so easily attain unless it becomes personal, is the way out of these repetitive sewers we traverse, seeking for the treasures long eaten by rats and the filth cast our by ourselves.
You are nothing. We are nothing. From nothing is the only place we can climb higher; clinging to faeces will not elevate own status to anything higher than the kingdom of excrement.
Miserably Miserable 