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A Lifetime Spent Identifying With A Broken Ego

Every ego is a broken ego, even the brash and shiny super-confident egos are broken. They’re the most broken of all, in some ways. In lots of ways. The brash and shiny super-confident egos are definitely the most broken of all. ‘What can be done for them?’ I ask myself, feigning concern. I couldn’t care less really of course. I have spent a lifetime identifying with one broken ego after another and where has it got me? What have I got to show for it? Fear was my middle name though and I never had a choice. All I ever knew was fear; all I ever knew was cringing weakness in the face of mild to moderate adversity. Looking back, I can see now that it was all an uphill struggle. A new defeat lay in wait for me around every corner. And what made it worse was that I knew it wasn’t supposed to be like that – I knew I was doing it all wrong. I wasn’t following the script. And then all those brashly confident egos that you are inevitably going to be up against – it’s not enough that they are brash, they also have to be abrasive. They abrade and abrade, all they know is how to abrade. It’s an abrasive world that we live in – it’ll take the flesh right off your bones. Unless you’re one of the brash ones, that is. It’s ‘abrade or be abraded’, it’s the law of the jungle. I’m labouring the point of course. I always labour the point. It’s like I don’t know where I’m going with it so I keep on rehashing on rehashing what I’m saying in the hope that it’ll all come clear. If only I can buy myself enough time. It’s all about buying time, buying time. The point is abundantly obvious however – all the bloody old egos are broken, the ones that are abrasive and the ones that are abraded, the brash ones and the ones that are eaten away from the inside with corrosive self-doubt, the ones that are always relentlessly punishing themselves. Every ego is a broken ego, every success story reeks of decay and corruption. That’s the tragedy of success, I suppose you could say. We see it on all sides, it’s paraded in front of our noses over and over again and we’re supposed to clap and cheer. We are supposed to rejoice in it. The success story of the triumphant ego. Shouting out loud. Roaring out your success. Ascending the stairway of glory – ego glory, that is, folks. The ultimate triumph of the appallingly deteriorated ego. And we are forced to identify with it every step of the way, through thick and through thin. And it’s all thin. So frighteningly thin. The veneer has come off a long long time ago and we’re in a very different territory now. We are in the territory of the ego when all the veneer has rubbed away but we have to carry on all the same. We have no choice but to carry on – as grotesquely repellent as that might be. You’ve started and so now you’re going to have to finish – only does it ever finish? Does it finish or does it just go on and on forever? Through the good times and the bad times only they’re all bad times really. Shouting out your triumph. Roaring as you have never roared before. ‘What can be done to help these poor old egos?’ I ask, pretending as best I can that I actually care. Which needless to say I don’t. You’ve started and so now you’re just going to have to finish. Just don’t expect me to give a shit…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maverick

It’s important to be a maverick, isn’t it? I always like to think of myself as a bit of a maverick, a bit of a rebel. I’m not saying that I am, mind you – I’m just saying that I like to think of myself that way. It helps me to respect myself a little a lot more than I would otherwise. It makes life easier if you can respect yourself, needless to say. If you can’t respect yourself then nothing is very much fun, is it? Not in my experience anyway. Yes, it’s very hard when you can’t respect yourself. That’s a hard old station, that’s a real tough road to walk down. People can smell it off you like BO and when they do they don’t want to have anything to do with you. They certainly don’t want to hang around with you and be your buddies, that’s for sure! No sir they don’t – folk have got some kind of infallible radar for that kind of thing, in my experience. What happens is that people congregate around those who do have a good opinion of themselves because they reckon – obviously enough – that if someone respects themselves then clearly there must be something there worth respecting. There’s no smoke without fire, as they say. See if you can spot the fallacy there, right? That’s life I guess and there’s no sense in wasting time thinking about it too much. You’ll only grow bitter that way and no one wants that. When a person grows bitter then they’re no good to themselves or to anyone else, as we all know. It’s most unfortunate, most unfortunate indeed. It’s so very easy to happen too – one minute you’re fine and dandy, the next you’re all sour and resentful, a misery both to yourself and anyone else who might be unfortunate enough to meet you! Dear me yes – isn’t that the way? Isn’t that always the way? It’s important not to dwell overmuch on the faults and failings of our fellow human beings therefore, as numerous as those faults and failings might be. And they are numerous – let us be under no illusions on that score. Chief amongst these faults – or so it seems to me – is the fault of unquestioning conformity to whatever authority structures that might be might happen to be around. We are in such a hurry to fit into the local power structure that it’s positively dizzying. We conform so quickly that we don’t even notice ourselves doing it. It’s as if there is some kind of instinctive radar operating there: spot where the power is in any given situation and then align yourself with it. Align yourself with it so fast that it seems as if you were always part of it, so it seems as if there was never any question of you not being part of it. That’s a pretty smart trick, I must admit. It’s a smart trick and it generally works a treat. The only possible drawback is of course that there is zero integrity involved in this process but I suppose we can ignore that. We all do ignore it anyway. One way in which this works has to do with ideas that have been propagated – the crucial point here being that it doesn’t matter what the idea actually is (why would that matter after all?) but who it is that the ideas are coming from. If the idea in question is coming from someone in a position of relative power or authority then we will fawn over it, we will fall over ourselves in our hurry to approve of it and say how great it is. If on the other hand it’s coming from someone who isn’t in such a position of authority, someone who isn’t part of the power structure, then no matter what the idea is it will be completely ignored – not only this but you will also be made to feel, in subtle ways, that you are a complete fool to open your mouth. If you persist with your idea then you will be ostracised by everyone. It’s as if they had telepathy, it’s as if they are all of one mind and this ‘one mind’ suddenly marks you out as being heinously guilty of some deeply unsavoury crime; everyone knows about it and no one wants to be associated with you anymore in case that taint should rub off on them. Distance keeps them clear of the taint, you see. Distance preserves them, distance makes sure that they are still going to be considered as part of the power structure. That’s the perennial insecurity of course – that we might be spotted as not playing the game – even though no one will admit in a million years that it is a game or that anyone is playing it. I’ve noticed that happening a lot at work. Actually I notice it happening all the time at work. What else is there in a system other than conformity, after all? I’m not like that however. I don’t play that game. That’s what I keep on telling myself, anyway…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Treacherous Brain

My treacherous brain was busy secreting depression chemicals again. It had gone into overdrive. How I despise that treacherous brain of mine! I hate it with a passion. I’d love to spoon it out and feed it piece-meal to a pondful of voracious catfish. Catfish will eat anything you know. A catfish would swallow a pigeon whole and think nothing of it. I’ve seen it on television. A fully grown catfish can be as big as a horse, you know. Then they’re called horsefish. Only kidding! There is such a thing as a horsefish of course but they are only very small and they certainly can’t eat pigeons. They cling to strands of seaweed with their prehensile tails and feed on plankton. They are very delicate creatures. I’ve always been fascinated by fish – there’s just something about them. And then there’s the unconscious symbology of fishes to consider as well – we mustn’t forget that. As for example in the secret sign or emblem of the early Christians. Thinking about fish always cheers me up for some reason. I could talk about them for hours. I won’t though because people quickly get fed up – they want to hear about other things, not fish. The only time most people are interested in fish when they are all battered and deep-fried and wrapped up in newspaper – isn’t that right? Anyway, that’s enough of that. I don’t want to go down the road of being critical of my fellow man – I know where that road leads to you see – I’ve been down it before. There is an unpleasant surprise waiting for anyone who goes down that road but I won’t talk about that. I don’t want to be a party pooper you see – I don’t want to spoil the surprise. I feel like saying ‘life’s a funny thing’ but I won’t because I hate people who say that! And yet at the same time I can sympathise with why they say it, because life actually is a funny thing, if we were to be honest about it. We’re never so far away as when we’re far away, are we? That’s a thought that just occurred to me. I am far away right now – far away from myself, that is. Far away from what my genuine feelings might be, far away from my actual sense of what is real. I’m disconnected from reality is what I’m trying to say, I guess. I’m disconnected from the core value of actual reality itself and – as a result – left at the mercy of whatever phantasmagorical bullshit might be floating around in my head. Well, there’s no shortage of that anyway, says you! My brain is up to no good –it’s plotting against me on some level or other. It’s busy thinking of ways to undermine me, ways to make a fool of me. When I think that what I could have been, what I could have achieved, if my brain hadn’t been sabotaging me the whole way that makes me very bitter. As it is, I have to face up to the fact that I’m a chronic underachiever every day and as time goes on I just keep underachieving more. That’s not an easy awareness to go around with every day, as I’m sure you can appreciate. It can very easily get you down. There you are, going around, engaging dutifully in your daily business, doing the bits that you’ve got to do, passing the time as best you can when you’ve got no bits to do (or in – in my case – when you’re avoiding doing them) and then there is the awareness, following you around, haunting you wherever you go – the awareness that you could have done better. That’s what they wrote on my school reports, funnily enough. I just remembered that. That’s a tough one, isn’t it? That’s definitely a tough one to live with. Of course, the other possibility is that I could just be self-obsessed. People sometimes say that to me – “Don’t you think that you could just be self-obsessed and there isn’t really any big problem after all? Did you ever think that maybe it’s all in your head?” Or words to that general effect. Needless to say it annoys the crap out of me when I hear this. Of course it’s all in my head! Where the fuck else would it be? Telling someone that their problems are probably due to the fact that they are self-obsessed isn’t particularly helpful either. That’s something I really do feel I need to point out. Passing on the information to someone that their problem is essentially that they are self-obsessed isn’t exactly the most useful bit of information in the world is it? If I point out to you that your hat is on fire then you can take it off in a hurry and then jump and down on it. That’s useful information to pass on to someone. But what the hell are you supposed to do if someone tells you that you’re self-obsessed? That’s only going to make you worse!

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Last Historian

I love to relate the wonder inventions of humankind from its murky beginnings back in the dawn of recorded history to the present day of equally murky modern times of which I speak. Down from the murky beginning to the present end of time days which are also murky. What is the best invention ever, I ask myself? A lot of people will say lots of different things, of course – some people might say that it is soup that you can make in a cup just using hot water from a kettle. Other people might say that the best invention is the X-box. It could be anything really. It could be cheese – you might think that cheese is the best human invention. Or the digestive biscuit perhaps. Or rich tea biscuits. A tale of rich tea biscuits and their relevance to the zeitgeist of an era that is now forever gone, gone without a trace.

 

I don’t know. It’s a wide-open field what people could say about that. I’m not a human myself but I have made quite a study of them. Humans are gone now so it is very interesting to me to try to work out what the human experience was like, what the meaning of ‘being a human’ is (or rather what it was). I’d like to meet a live one of course but they aren’t any of them left. Not now that we have finally reached the ‘end days’ – the so-very-famous end days that everyone used to love talking about so much. ‘Used to’ being the operative phrase, of course.

 

I love to relate to the wonder inventions of human race, right back from the very earliest days. I’m sorry, I think I said that already, didn’t I? I’m a bit of a ‘creature of habit’, I am afraid. I’m very much a creature of habit. Habits are all I am or ever could be. Habits are the beginning and the end of me. That’s why it’s so important not to fall into bad habits. That’s why it’s so important not to fall into bad habits like I did! Not that there’s any such thing as good habits either, even though people always used to say that there was. Years and years ago – well, centuries and centuries ago would be more like it – they loved to throw that sort of stuff at you the whole time. The ten important habits of successful people, the seven habits of happy people, the two hundred and twenty four habits of effective communicators. That sort of thing. How the human race used to love throwing bullshit around, huh? They loved bullshit so much…

 

I’m not a human being but I used to be. A very long time ago. I can’t really remember what that was like that – I’d like to make that point. It’s like when you’re an adult and you think back to when you were a kid and you realise that you can’t remember what that was like. It’s as if children are a different species to us so that when you try to relate yourself as you were when you were a child you just can’t. That child has nothing to do with you as you are today, nothing at all. In the same way I am so very far away from what I was when I was a human – humans are a different species for me, a very different speciesdip, ited.$1,010/1–

 

Being a person means absolutely nothing to me, it’s not even in my dreams. Only cascading decay products are in my dreams. All the same, I was a human once. I was a human once but now I’m only a residual. That’s what they call us. That’s what we call us because there is only us now. No one here but us residuals, right? No one here, no one here, no one here but us old residuals. Like a bad smell you can’t get rid of. The universe is gone, long since gone, gone without a trace. What the hell was the universe anyway? What was that crazy shit? We must had some good times back then, I think nostalgically. Not that we were them of course and or that they would eventually be us. Someone must have had some good times back then, let us say. Let’s leave it at that. I still get excited about humanity – I like to see myself as a historian, I guess you could say. I don’t think we should forget about history just because there’s no such thing as the universe any more. I like to try to keep history alive – alive for us residuals, anyway.

 

A faulty script is slowing your reality down, what you want to do? What do you want to do about it? What can you do about it, anyway? What’s left of reality is full of glitches. You never saw anything as glitched as reality, I’m telling you. That’s what reality is, come to think of it. What’s left of reality is one big fat glitch – the granddaddy of all glitches, the biggest and nastiest glitch ever. You couldn’t imagine. So much has been lost. So much has been lost and is it really worth trying to recall it? Isn’t that just a way of tormenting yourself, some would say? Not for me though. To me it is a positive thing. Everyone’s got to have a hobby after all and that is mine. I like to think of myself as the last historian, the historian at the End of Time…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It Is All Happening In My head

It was all happening in my head. The whole world was busy happening in my head and my head was like some sort of an ancient decrepit warehouse full of the junk of ages. Everything was happening my head and I realised with a shock that my head was bad. My head was the bad head and the bad head was an alien construct that had been secretly designed to serve our evil masters. A lot of time had passed very quickly and now all of a sudden my head was the decrepit old warehouse full of dysfunctional rusty old machines that I have been telling you about. I never saw it happen, obviously. It must have been some sort of time-warp created by my enemy. The bottom fell out of everything and then the next thing was that we found ourselves down in the rat-infested basement – a basement that there was no way out of because the wooden stairway had long since rotted away into dust. There never is any way out of the basement because that’s the sort of place it is. It’s the sort of place that there is never any escape out of and it’s my head. It’s the bad head that is full of ghosts and demons, squalling and squealing all around you. I am experiencing horrific feelings of intense claustrophobia – I want to run away from all the stuff that is happening in my head but I can’t because there’s nowhere else to go. I want to put some space between me and all of that stuff but there’s no more space left in my head. It is full of malignant, persecutory junk. My head is the bad warehouse, full of toxic waste products. Evil creatures live there, predators which move so quickly you can hardly see them until it’s too late. Either that or they creep up on you so slowly that you never notice that either. Either way the result is the same. The evil spirit of me is persecuting me – it is persecuting me with the full force of evil. It buzzes around my head like a giant predatory wasp looking for somewhere to place its deadly eggs. The dreadful noise of its wings, the frightening wasp-like noise that it makes. The evil buzzing of the bad spirits as they haunt you. When they hatch the larva will make their home in you and they will get bigger and fatter as you get more and more hollow. Until you are just like this big hollow thing, this vast empty warehouse full of fast moving ghost-predators that you can’t ever get away from. The evil warehouse is full to the brim with buzzing paranoia: you are relentlessly persecuting yourself and you know there’s no escape. You can hear the horrible buzzing wasp noise that is coming from somewhere in your head. You turn around but it’s gone, there’s only a bad smell. You’re all alone in the warehouse and the evil spirit of you is haunting you – it has been haunting you for your whole life and you can’t get rid of it. Maybe it is you, you think sadly. Maybe the evil spirit is you and that’s why you can’t get away from it. You were the evil spirit all along and it is all happening in your head. The whole world is busy happening in your head…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Social Camouflage

I was trying to figure out what all the other people were doing so I could do it too. What’s more, I was trying to figure out why they were doing what they were doing, so I could explain what I was doing just in case anyone asked. There is safety in numbers after all, as a wise man once said. If you see just one person doing something then don’t copy him because he’s probably off his head in some way. He could very well be a misfit you see – you wouldn’t know! If on the other hand you see everyone doing something then you’d better rush to do it too – you wouldn’t want to miss out on anything now would you? Plus, if everyone is doing something and you aren’t then that automatically makes you a bit of a misfit. By definition it does. The rules of the game are simple enough really – you just have to ‘get with the programme’! I remember when I was little, only knee-high to a boll weevil, all the teachers at school used to lose patience with me. ‘Get with the programme, Zippy’ they’d snap. This phrase went around and around in my head, as you might imagine. ‘Get with the programme, Zippy,’ I’d hear in my dreams, and then I’d wake up pouring with sweat. My brain would be feverishly trying to work out what the programme was so that I could get with it. Now that I have grown up and taken my place in the world (that’s only a figure of speech by the way, it doesn’t actually mean anything – not in my case, anyway) I have got it down to a fine art. I could write a book on it. I probably will write a book on it. I gauge what other people are doing – as I just said – and then I make haste to copy them. It’s necessary social camouflage you see – without the necessary social camouflage we would all be exposed as misfits! ‘Uh-oh! Look who’s been caught with their pants down!’ there will say, ‘this lad’s an idiot and no mistake!’ So I have learnt to ‘get with the programme’, as you might say. As you might well say. I’ve got with the programme and that’s the necessary social camouflage. No one is going to look at me twice now.  ‘Poor old Zippy’, they used to say of me at school, ‘that lad’s never going to get with the programme…’ They were perfectly right of course really, but I still can’t help resenting them. No one likes to be talked down to, after all. No one likes to be ‘passed over’ in that way and left to rot on the sidelines. Ignored as if they are never going to amount to anything in life. I guess you could say that I have developed some kind of ‘complex’ about it, some sort of inferiority complex which has probably  – over time – distorted my personality to some extent or another. ‘May have a seriously distorting effect on the personality’ says the small print on the packet. Not that we ever read the small print, of course. ‘Well, I’ll show them!’ I say to myself. That has become my battle cry – ‘I’ll show them!’ So here I am – I guess – trying as hard as I can to do what everyone else is doing so that I don’t end up suffering from some sort of horrendous existential crisis. ‘I can play this game as well as anyone can,’ I say to myself. I must admit that I still have zero insight as to why we are all doing what we’re doing. Although I figure that doesn’t matter so much. No one’s ever going to ask that question.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hoppy The Hopper

When I was small I had a friend who was a hopper. I called him Hoppy. Boy could Hoppy hop! He could hop six feet in the air from standstill. He could hop and pop and hop on hop without ever getting tired. He could hop all day long, come to think of it! I never saw anyone hop as much as Hoppy. I used to have hours of fun just from watching him. Hoppy never did much else other than hop – hopping was about the limit of it for him really. Either he sat still like a huge black flea, perfectly unmoving for hours on end, or he hopped. It was always the one thing or the other with good old Hoppy – either he was hopping like crazy or he was still as a statue. You never knew what it was going to be either – you never could tell. That impressed me too about Hoppy – the fact that he was so damn inscrutable; I used to wake up in the morning and there he would be, crouched at the foot of my bed is if he were carved out of obsidian. ‘What is it going to be today, Hoppy?’ I’d ask him, ‘hopping or staying still?’ Not that he’d never answer me of course – talking wasn’t exactly part of his repertoire. No sir, Hoppy wasn’t one for small talk! Or any type of talk for that matter. The only thing he had in his repertoire was hopping, as I believe I have already said. Either hopping or not hopping. I didn’t mind that though – I didn’t have any other friends at that point in my life apart from Hoppy and having him as a buddy got me through that difficult time. I wasn’t popular as a kid and often enough the other kids would beat me up when they saw me. At the very least they would mock me and humiliate me. It wasn’t like that with Hoppy though – we had an understanding. He accepted me; he was the only one who did, now that I come to think of it. My parents didn’t accept me – I was a disappointment to them. They had hoped for a child whose wasn’t as intensely introverted as I was, no doubt. A popular child who was on the school football team, perhaps. They never actually told me that I was a disappointment to them but I knew it all the same. I could tell by the way they looked at me at dinner time, which is just about the only time they ever saw me. Every day, the disappointed looks over the dinner table. Every day the same old looks. I couldn’t wait to get back to my bedroom and spend some quality time with Hoppy, trying to guess whether he was going to hop or not. Good old Hoppy, inscrutable old Hoppy. I remember spending long evenings staring into his face wondering, ‘what’s it going to be for tonight old boy? Hopping or not hopping?’ Hoppy got me through that difficult time in my life, as I have said. Hoppy’s quiet acceptance of me got me through. I will always owe him for that, needless to say. He was my only friend at a crucial stage in my life and something like that can make all the difference. Hoppy isn’t with me anymore unfortunately – he made one supremely vigorous hop one day, a totally crazy hop, and smashed into the ceiling of my bedroom. He must have been moving at a tremendous velocity because he went straight through the ceiling and embedded deeply in it. He stayed there for a good ten minutes before falling lifeless to the floor, all busted up. I could tell from the noise he made when he hit the roof that it wasn’t good news. It wasn’t a very nice noise at all – a sickening squelchy wet thud, followed by a deathly silence. That was Hoppy’s last hop and his greatest. He was some character, old Hoppy, and I’ll never forget him. I’d like other people to know about him too and that’s why I wanted to share the story with you…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Quick To Anger, Quick To Wrath

When you see someone speaking then you know for sure that they are lying – isn’t that the truth? Is this not the Kingdom of Lies, after all? Isn’t that what it has been called? Is this not Mara’s Dominion that we live in? Has not Ahriman the Deceiver been granted Dominion over the Earth for Ten Thousand Years? Is it not so written in the Scriptures?

 

That’s the way things are in this world of ours – people are in a dreadful hurry to speak but they couldn’t speak the truth not for love nor money. The truth is a stranger here. We are in a terrible rush to speak the words that have been given to us but there is no truth in these words. There is nothing in the words that have been given to us – nothing but deceit. We love illusion too much and this is our reward. Has not the Deceiver been given dominion over the earth for ten thousand years? ‘No he has not,’ they will tell you sternly, but they lie. They are lying without shame, they are lying right to your face. They are lying night and day – they are lying night and day because that is the nature of this world.

 

The next time you hear someone speak, trying to fill your head with their words, remember this, if you can. Remember that people’s tongues are not their own. In enchantment has been laid upon this world and the enchantment is that no one shall ever be able to speak the truth, no matter how hard they try, no matter how long they might go on talking for. And even if someone spoke the truth by accident – as may happen once in a while – no one would take any heed. Mockery would be heaped upon their heads. We only care for nonsense, after all. Anything precious we throw away.

 

The next time you hear yourself thinking remember this – remember that each and every one of us is deeply attached to nonsense. We worship nonsense with a passion. Our love affair with illusion is truly without parallel. We celebrate liars every day – the greater the liar the more we celebrate them! If there were one who spoke the truth – just supposing that there might be, as absurd as that might seem – how we would revile them! How angry we would be! Quick to anger are we when we come across anyone who dares to speak the truth. Not that we ever do, of course. Not that we ever do…

 

Quick to anger, quick to wrath. Quick to inflict inflict cruelty and vicious condemnation. This was ever our way. Thus it ever was in the Kingdom of Lies. Those amongst us who have no great gift for clever lies are trodden underfoot and treated with contempt. We say that their heads are soft! We have no time for such as them. With those who prove to have tongues that are dexterous in telling complicated lies our admiration has no bounds, however. We set them up to rule over us, we pay them handsome salaries. Thus it ever was in the Kingdom of Lies.

 

We pay people to lie to us, that’s how much we value lies. We value lies more than silver and gold. The greatest liars are selected from amongst us and they are granted rights and privileges. Many are the rights and privileges that are given to them! Splendid are the dwelling houses in which they live. Great indeed is their power. A man’s power and status grows in proportion to the lies which he tells – is it not written thus? Is this not what it says in the Scriptures, that a man’s power will grow in proportion to the evil in which he partakes? Was this not ever the way?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reaching A Low Point

I had reached a particularly savage low point in my life and I don’t really want to say any more about it than this. It is sufficient merely to say that I had hit a real low point – morally, emotionally and physically. I was going to say ‘spiritually’ as well then I realised that I don’t know what that means; it sounds good but that’s about it, as far as I can tell. I don’t know what people mean when they talk about ‘spiritual well-being’ or ‘spiritual health’ or whatever. It’s an important element in mental health these days – apparently – but does anyone know what is? I’d be willing to bet good money on the fact that no one really knows just what the hell this is actually supposed to mean. Anyway – as I say – it’s a real low point and I never saw it coming. It was waiting for me around the corner. My self-esteem was in tatters, my self-esteem was non-existent. Well, to be honest, my self-esteem is non-existent anyway – I don’t have such a thing and I never have done. I don’t even know what it means, now that I mention it. What joker invented the idea of self esteem? What freaking clown came up with this ? Are we supposed to go around ‘positively esteeming ourselves’ the whole time? Is that the idea? Self-esteem is a total lie in my view but the absence of it isn’t! No sir, the absence of it isn’t. You know what it’s like – I presume – to look at yourself and be utterly appalled at the profound, sickening worthlessness of what you see? Not only is it the case that you don’t like what you see (‘Hey guess what you guys, I’ve just discovered that I don’t esteem myself very much!’) but that you pitilessly see yourself for exactly what you are and ‘what you are’ is utterly lacking in any worth at all. And when I say ‘utterly lacking in any worth at all’ I really do mean exactly that. I mean exactly that with no frills or bells attached. It is as simple as that, it really is. This is a cold fact that has been revealed to you – an indisputable fact. No one is disputing it, least of all you. And it’s not even that it’s such a big deal or anything like that, really. It’s no big deal – it just is what it is. A maggot is a maggot and a tapeworm is a tapeworm and you are what you are. There is nothing dramatic about it at all, as I have just said, it’s a cold fact just like many other cold facts you could contemplate if you wanted to. Who cares, anyway? You obviously care (inasmuch as you are profoundly appalled and shocked by this revelation) but no one else does. No one else gives a damn. Why would they? It’s not like it’s anyone else’s business after all. They’ve got their own lives to be getting on with, after all, and you’re no concern of theirs. But the point here is of course that you can’t just ‘get over it’ – you can’t do that because it’s you that we talking about here. That utterly corrupt and completely worthless creature is you and so where exactly are you going to go with that? What’s your next step? How are you supposed to ‘make a go of things’ when this is your starting point? You’d like to walk away, you’d love to walk away – that would be the best thing in the world as far as you’re concerned – but you just can’t.  You can’t go anywhere and start over because you have to bring yourself with you. That’s your ‘starting-off point’ and there’s no other, but at the same time, as I said, where do you go with this? I know you’re getting pissed off with me at this point, I can feel it. ‘Get over it buddy,’ you’d like to tell me. ‘Would you just get over yourself? Go and sign up on a self-esteem course or something. Go and stand in front of the mirror and do some fucking self affirmations…’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mocking The Freak

Suppose you met someone who was acting like a total freak, behaving in a totally weird, abnormal, odd or bizarre fashion, and so on and so forth, what you do? Would you run up to them and mock them? Would you call the police or park authorities or would you take matters into your own hands and beat the living shyte out of them? This is a test of character you see – it’s very interesting for me to see just how you would answer this question. I know lots of people who would just mock the freak straightaway without thinking about it; they would mock anyone acting like a freak as a matter of course and the thing about this is you see that this behaviour of theirs shows clearly that it is them that are the freaks and that hilarious thing about this is that they never ever realise it. Can you believe how stupid these creeps are – they find someone who is a freak and then straightaway they mock the freak thinking that this shows how cool they are (because they aren’t the freak but the person mocking the freak, which they obviously see as a superior position) but really they’re showing themselves up as being absolute total freaks themselves! I mean, what are they thinking? What’s going on in their frikkin’ heads, anyway? How stupid is it possible to be? The answer to this question is obviously that it is perfectly possible to be one hundred percent stupid, stupid all the way, completely and utterly stupid without even a shred of anything that isn’t totally dumb. So what do you think that feels like? How do you think it feels to be that stupid? That must be a rather interesting sensation, wouldn’t you say? What do you reckon it feels like to be them? If I met them I mock them, I tell you. They’re the ones I’d mock – I would mock them for being so ridiculous stupid as to not realise that they are making total freaks of themselves because they think that it is someone else who is the freak not them and because they imagine that this obvious fact somehow lets them off the hook! But no – it doesn’t let them off the hook. I’m afraid that’s just not the way it works. They think that having a good old laugh at some poor freak is a laugh and that it’s a laugh to have a laugh, and that this is all there is to it. End of story. After all, the poor freak hasn’t got a leg to stand on because he actually is a freak and so there’s nothing he can say in his defence. These mockers think they can just mock – and thereby get to feel good about themselves  – and then just walk away with impunity and enjoy the rest of their lives (by poking fun at other freaks that they might come across, perhaps); this is their mistake because their stupidity in thinking this backfires on them instantly. It backfires on them every single time and they are so bloody stupid that they simply don’t realise it. I don’t know why but it infuriates me beyond measure that they don’t see this.