Random blog entry #774

The following was written with the idea that I would go over it later, editing and refining it, maybe making it less stream-of-consciousness. But I didn’t. So it should be like most everything I’ve ever written here. I just wanted to add a disclaimer to say that.

 

I don’t know if I can write fiction right now. That’s the feeling that I have, that I can’t craft something appealing and meaningful while still keeping it distant and not too personal. The last point isn’t a requirement, of course, but currently I don’t feel like exposing myself more than I already have. Too many people (like two or three) that I know personally and talk to occasionally may read what I write, and my social structure is fragile enough right now that I don’t want to damage it. That’s the thought in my head, I can tell, even though I know that there hasn’t been damage done in the past when I’ve been open and vulnerable. If anything, sometimes it is better. But that doesn’t mean that the perception isn’t still there, and I just feel like whatever I wrote would boil down to being whining, needy and desperate. So I’ll just put it here instead, where some may still read it but it’s not “fiction” and I’m pretty sure at least one person won’t read it because I don’t think they know about it. Such a scared little boy…

The weird thing is, that’s complete bullshit. I’m hardly a scared little boy. I’ll kick your ass…and yours…yeah, you too. C’mon; bring it on. So maybe this has nothing to do with writing. Writing is the scapegoat. Using it as my topic allows me to introduce a notion which you probably don’t get yet, and which I’m not going to explain to you, but it’s something constantly swimming around in my psyche and my retort to it is: Fuck you! Okay, so what it is … it’s a cloak I hide behind. It’s a habit. It’s something I’ve always done. It’s saying “I don’t know” and then continuing on to answer or state something, showing that I do actually know, but somehow the disclaimer beforehand release me from all liability if you don’t like what I’m saying. I fucking well do know. And some people get to see that in me, and once in a while I do.

I want to blame our society. I want to say that it’s what we learn growing up: that some things are good and some things are bad; that we should do certain things to be successful and if we don’t then we are achieving less than we could, than we should; and maybe there’s a personality or character underneath that we’re born with or we somehow develop, I don’t know, that gets this framework built by society laid on top of it, and that framework ends up fettering us and keeping us from behaving as we would naturally. I started all of this out by saying “I want to…” which is another disclaimer, a way of making what I say less harsh somehow.

The funny thing is, I have this idea about natural behavior, survival of the fittest, and the way some of the ancient Greeks used to think about the strong taking what is theirs. I don’t like that type of behavior. I see it in modern times as an integral part of our corporate, capitalist structure, and the attitude that lead so many to despise the rich, the politicians, the greedy crooks of Enron and others who just haven’t been caught. So I don’t believe in what Ayn Rand wrote about in Atlas Shrugged. Anyway, what is the real value of gaining power, of being driven and successful, of being a mover and a shaker? I guess you could take the question to the next level and ask what really brings people happiness, what is “worth it” in this life, and if there is anything after it.

I don’t know if any of this will make sense to anyone else, or even to me later on. It may not be cohesive enough, but I’ve written plenty here that isn’t. The funny thing is, I could be a hell of a mover and a shaker if I chose to. I’d be a terror. But I’ve never had the inclination. Sure, I used to think I wanted to be rich and be able to afford all sorts of fast cars, but I realize that doesn’t really matter anymore. One thing that always comes up in my brain, though, is that maybe I really am ruthless, amoral, and a perfect match for the type of person I describe (at least in my head), but I’m just too scared or timid or something to let it show. My ex saw it in me and liked it, but she’s a lot more one of those people than I appear to be. It does feel good to wear the clothes, though–to step into that role once in a while, as needed, and have the power to own a situation, to take control. Yet I rebel against it so…