Posts Tagged ‘selfishness’

A Few Words On The Celebrity Gossip Machine

Monday, September 13th, 2021

It blows my mind that there are people who don’t believe others deserve the basic right to privacy. So many people in media authority make immense profits off of the most useless and manufactured celebrity gossip. Glutting mainstream newshubs with this empty information tells the masses that world conflicts and political corruption are of no concern when baby scares and wedding fiascos exist. It commodifies the human experience to a systematic extent—how are we supposed to escape it? It’s a bafflingly cynical line of work.

While heinous acts of terror and rape deserve to be dealt with accordingly, celebrity gossip culture places all forms of human fallacy—from murder to making fun of another grown human person with a fully developed brain on the internet—under the same umbrella. The real problems hold the same magnitude as adolescent he-said-she-said. It only promotes a crippling twenty-first century hypersensitivity and, at times, viciously targets people who, in the grand scheme of things, never actually hurt anyone. Getting distracted by these meaningless items only allows the real offenders to scurry away scot-free in the meantime.

For the people receiving the feed, keeping up on such “news” can become an addiction. As human beings, we are all faced with varying levels of insecurity regarding our inherently selfish and prideful nature. Seeing a person in power who has done a supposedly “bad thing,” no matter the magnitude, tears down the curated, perfect image that stood so prominently before. The true, flawed nature of man is put on full display. It elicits almost a sense of pride in the lowly observer, who now feels superior than the persona-person for having not committed the same crime—or, in the most likely case, not getting caught doing the same thing. With enough repetition, the hypocrisy becomes commonplace and irremovable. As long as the happy buttons in the brain are being pressed in time with those on the “volume up” control, all is good from the armchair. Nothing of actual substance gets done, and the world keeps on disintegrating as usual. What the observer fails to realize is that no-one is inherently better than another, for we are all sitting here waiting for the earth to be consumed by the sun, preaching the gospel while whipping ourselves for our sins behind closed doors.

Don’t Be Gaslighting Me, Mofo

Friday, August 27th, 2021

Fall is truly falling, isn’t it?

While my previous logs were written from my room, I wrote the entirety of this piece over the course of a few study hall periods, as school is back in session. I must admit, I forgot how much teenager germs still make me gag, all the more a reason to wear a mask walking to and from my classes. Almost all of my peers are abstaining from wearing theirs since there is no enforced mandate. My COVID concerns still linger, so it’s still slightly unsettling, but I’ve managed to make myself comfortable. It helps that all my teachers are nice.

Yes, fall is kicking in, though the runoff of the hottest summer the Northern Hemisphere has ever experienced (thanks, climate change!) doesn’t make it feel that way. Neither does darling little Delta lingering around the corner, waiting to crash your party and leave you realizing the next morning that the previous night wasn’t as good as you thought it was. It’s a real pity. I thought this was supposed to be an ascending fall, but I guess the only positive curve is the hospitalization graph!

On my calendar, September holds large scale events that I have been anticipating since March of last year, yet the threat of Delta’s dance keeps them hanging in the balance. The first on my list, the Riot Fest gathering in Chicago, has already had two of its biggest acts—Troubled Trent! Frank! Nooo!—withdraw out of COVID concern only to be replaced by…Slipknot. Didn’t one of their members just catch COVID, and didn’t another one just straight up die a few weeks ago? My condolences, of course, but I didn’t expect overly angsty (and, it seems, painfully mortal) nu metal to be the soundtrack to the world’s reopening.

Me being me, the prophetic songs of DEVO, who are still on Riot Fest’s bill and have a show I’ll be catching at Radio City Music Hall two days later, sound like a much better choice. They also seem brazenly enthusiastic about finally getting back out on the road after years of Mark Mothersbaugh being too busy making movie score money. I assume they trust their fans with actually taking precaution and getting their shots, considering that both of the group’s frontmen have caught the virus in its early days; Marky Mark even needed a ventilator. His recovery was also apparently interrupted by the indulgent partying of the youthful TikTok stars living next door, a modern day exercise of the “live fast, die young” mentality that has latched onto so many. There’s no good future in sight, so why not submerge ourselves in fun, partying, tossing cash around, assorted acts of degeneracy that our parents’ bank accounts let us get away with while we still can? It’s saddening to see, yet it’s not an unnatural response considering the circumstances.

It seems like everyone is thinking, “what can I do that makes me happy before the world burns?” That includes myself. But typing on an energy-consuming computer with the lights on isn’t actually as damaging to the environment as carbon dioxide-pumping, uselessly polluting companies want me to think. Neither is letting yourself loose in a crowd of like minded people while your favorite (and not favorite) bands bring their songs to life.

So, DEVO and Slipknot, eh? Not all jumpsuit wearing, clown mask bearing bands are made equal. But can we expect anything to not happen at this point?

Crockfishing

Thursday, July 29th, 2021

If I owned a nickel for every hard choice I’ve had to make, I’d own a bank’s equivalent, and should the rapidly rising pace of their prevalence keeps up, I’d be a millionaire by the time I get my bachelor’s degree. Since everything seems dire and of utmost importance in these modern day end times, I’ve developed a tendency towards perfectionism in my decision making, and it is both grueling and ultimately satisfying.

Every choice forces the possibilities left behind to die, opening the door to more choices. Fish hatch from eggs only to give birth to more when they mature. It’s an endless cycle. Every choice has impact, which not enough seem to realize, and seeing others make horrible decisions, while painful, comes as no surprise at this point. When boostered by a false sense of superiority, you gain lenience and begin to cut strings between you and your fellow men. What you do matters not as long as it benefits your wants, even when others may need the complete opposite.

When others look down at you from the higher rungs of their constructed Social Ladder, on the other hand, methods of survival must be utilized. Situations must be utilized down to the pinprick, and every move must be made like a chess game. Sense must be made in a world gone mad, reaching a point where what others deem as weird becomes common and not repulsive. Case in point: I keep getting this Captain Beefheart song trapped in my head to the point where mentally reciting it’s lyrics—

I’m gonna grow fins
‘N go back in the water again
If ya don’t leave me alone
I’m gonna take up with ah mermaid
‘N leave you land lubbin’ women alone!

—has become a cute ritual in maintaining my sanity. I guess some people’s blues are gill-bearing, and I guess that includes me. Considering how chronically perseverant I am, I always thought I was more like a cockroach. Maybe when my concerns regarding climate-induced end of the world scenarios become reality, I’ll be among them. If only the things I have actual control over were the most of my concerns. But I don’t plan on riding some easy path of acceptance. I can’t let myself succumb to that, and it pains me to see others do so, blowing their potential in the process.

I could choose routes that serve only to dim my bulbs, routes that satisfy others at the expense of what I truly need. Instead, I make myself that fish out of water, searching for the right pool.

And how right it will be.

There’s No Place Like Home (To Return To)

Tuesday, July 20th, 2021

Why do you think babies cry when they exit the womb? Because they don’t want to leave the security of floating weightlessly in the warm ooze that granted them life, but they are forced to take in the new world’s air. Tethered to our moms, we are free in our primordial atmosphere—at least, until we are ejected against our will into the cold, harsh world we unconditionally grow to accept. And aren’t we all now grown and looking for something warm and cozy to counter our troubling environment?

I look in the sky on this hot summer night and see a faint speck of light becoming more and more faint by the second. It is a high tech device, Sputnik-like, more advanced than any regular plane. There is a little man in there. He sits in his cockpit consoled by a padded suit and the fact that there is no one dirty there to peeve him. All of the ship’s controls are within reach of his grubby hands. He knows what he is doing. His destination is the moon.

He is too large and scrubbed clean for Earthling soil. He is exiting Earth and its societies to prospect his own world in an cushioned anti-gravitational frontier, a world all his own. One mother is returned to while another is left to rot.

Once there, he will be able to survey his home planet from a distance farther than most could imagine being in their lifetimes. He will see what space junk scraps see when they drift by, not swayed enough by gravity to make a crash landing. He will see a planet that lies in his perpetual grip, but only then will he be able to create the physical illusion that he is holding it, like how he squished peoples’ heads from afar as a grade schooler. He will see a planet in dismay. Maybe he will see the fires raging across the land from space when they were not included in his earthly penthouse view. He will think of all the little people who would do anything to spacewalk in his boots and how they will never be able to touch him.

In his mind he remains afloat forever, cultivating his own society free from Earth’s clutches, one where only the purest and most accumulous are permitted. Scientific understanding and discovery play no part when he has already discovered the truest depths of human selfishness. But these visions exist only within his dampest dreams, and he must return to reality sooner or later. He would never want to risk looking different than you or me.

Shame that those who need to get pulled down to Earth most, are the only ones who hold the means to escape it’s gravitational pull.