Everyone’s a douchebag. I wasn’t aware of this when I signed up for existence. I merely checked “English speaking” and “musician” when I filled out the preferences form, learned some in utero calisthenics, and jetted into the womb for what were, regrettably, nine months of celibacy. The saddest revelation of all the sorrowful truths I’ve accrued is, undoubtedly, that my conception of the world and the world’s actual reality are evolving in inversely proportional ways: I grow increasingly sure that there is some bastion of goodwill here on this earth, while this earth continues to defecate large, undigested turds on my face. There is no battle between good and evil; rather, various degrees of evil battle for immoral supremacy.
Think about all the things you learned not to do with strangers: talk to them, take candy from them, get in a car with them. Later, when your father/mother/guardian/teacher/older sibling/LSD tab was edifying you about business, there were a few principles about people that you had to know: everyone just wants your money; everyone’s out for their own ass; everyone is trying to screw you; everyone only sees you as a resource; it’s dog-eat-dog, and everyone’s trying to be the big dog. As if all that weren’t sufficiently disheartening, the real misanthropy lies in the wisdom we impart about relationships. Women are evil. Women are vixens. Men are assholes. Men always cheat. Love is an illusion. Love isn’t real. Love isn’t worth it. Every relationship ends badly.
Quite caustic, this world of ours. Brimming with assholes, overrun with pricks, nothing but people getting fucked while they’re groping for footing: just a big, unfortunate porno where all the actors contract VD. Loving kindness be damned—anyone who’s spent a spiritless five minutes in a law firm knows that we’re litigating our way towards an bleak future. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.
I’m a bit encouraged by the Live From Abbey Road special on the Sundance Channel, and soothed further by the knowledge that the worst of the Mets’ season is over. There is a new Californication in the TiVo queue and a promising Rangers season about to get underway (Drury and Gomez? What a treat. I don’t deserve this. No, really. You’re too much. Please, take back one of them. I couldn’t possibly. Really? I can have them both? I feel so spoiled. Oh—I still have to watch the NHL on the VERSUS network? I guess life is worse than I thought.) The weather is decent, and it’s been quite some time since I’ve been in a law office. I’m practically oblivious to society’s most venomous sectors (law, politics, health insurance), and I’m at peace, for now, with my iTunes collection.
This life may not be grand, but it has its gentler moments.
Stay Sexual, Dystopian Metaphors