The world is one buggered up place. We have over-saturation of insanity in our media, a species that is either intent on destroying itself, or simply too bloody stupid to realize that’s whats going on, and a government where people actually say that Tax Laws are a greater violation of our rights than removing equal pay legislation.
Each day, the cynic inside see the world getting a bit dimmer. The sun isn’t as bright as it was in childhood, even on the cloudless days of spring. The glory and knowledge that a child believes comes with being an adult never materialized. There was no eureka moment when the skies part, and the mysteries of the universe unravel. Inside, we are all still nothing more than educated children, trying desperately to find some semblance of truth in a world of illusions and lies.
This search for truth is the great tragedy of human existence. We are driven by an impossible yearning to know, experience, and find. Every day the human experience expands our minds, and fires our hearts. But to what end? In Truth, we also find pain. We learn, and see the ways of the world, and the naive ideas of children die like flowers in the fall, only to grow back in the spring as thorn bushes. Reality, that great killer of dreams, has show itself and to those with the intellect to realize it, it is not a pretty sight.
Into this brutal vision of our planet, there are a few ways people tend to deal. When revealed, the man behind the curtain can be exploited, or helped, or ignored.
For my part, I have long since discarded the notion of exploiting a broken system. Not for moral reasons, that would be too convenient, too coincidental, and too lazy even for me. For 8 years, helping seemed to be the way to go, but people do not think at how true the old sayings are. If you work hard, they say you are pressing your nose to the grindstone… how fitting is that? A grindstone will wear down anything pressed against it, chew through it, and leave it broken and shattered. Like Hemmingway, I find myself looking at the world through the bottom of a pint glass, and it seems to make more sense that way.
But must it be this way? For those in the middle, smart enough to see the problems, but without the abilities to fix them? Quieting our demons long enough to get some work down to paper?
It isn’t a question I can answer, at least not now. But today is Hitchens Birthday, and if ever the mood to sit, and think, with a glass of whiskey, and a pad of paper was ever to wash over me, it would be today.
Maybe tomorrow I shall wake up and know the world a little better.
Maybe that’s all it takes to make the world a little better.