Thursday, September 3, 2009

Maybe No One Ever Truly Sells Out

One time I was discussing the novel 1984 with some people. (Granted I have discussed this book more than once. In fact I spent weeks on it in school but this was at Cardinal Hill. I was still a lifeguard and we were in the office. I was in one of the low chairs. My memory is fucking flawless.) And we were discussing the end of the story; the part after Winston buckles and lives his life in shame and the very last page, the very last paragraph where everything falls into place.

Well this one comrade of mine, she said that she always thought that Winston, in his last second of life, might have still truly hated Big Brother. When I heard that I was blown away. Because that is so obviously not the case. I mean that's a fucking pipe dream. Orwell wrote in black and fucking white that he loved Big Brother.

And yet... Well as plainly wrong as that idea is I love it. I love the idea that no matter what, we stay true to who we are. That deep down inside, even after we have done terrible things and betrayed the people and ideals we thought we never would we still can hold them close to our hearts.

"Fuck Me In The Shit! Fuck Me In The Shit!"

So today I was lectured about my drinking. My Team Leader told me that he thinks I'm depressed because I'm an alky. Or maybe I'm an alky because I'm depressed. He wasn't too clear. He's an fucking alcoholic too though, and he admits it. If anything that makes he assessment more valid in my eyes than someone else's. Let's be honest here folks; how can you know anything without having done it?

This is exactly why I very rarely trust people who don't drink, fuck, fight or do drugs. These things are generally looked down upon when taken in excess, and yet I find that people who abstain from them are hardly worth the trouble of knowing. It has something to do with the idea that when a person indulges in these activities they become less of a man. (I don't mean man as masculine, I mean man as in human.) It is best put this way:
"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man."
I suppose that if a person doesn't need to escape into the refuge of sex or violence or mind altering substance then that person is fairly well adjusted. And I can hardly think of any well adjusted person who has done a fucking thing that anyone gives a shit about.

Anyone worth knowing is mad. They are unstable, angry, possessed and tortured. They are prisoners to their own weakness and failing. They have a fire that burns all the time and they can't stop it.
I fucking love these people. I surround myself with alcoholics, sociopaths, junkies, malcontents and sexual deviants because they are interesting. Ask them about their day and you get a story the likes of which you'll repeat for months. Ask someone with a 9-5. (Not to say 9-5's equal a worthless life. I know many people who burn just as bright, they just have to dim the lights during those hours. Just as I know many people who have great opportunities for greatness in their everyday lives and let the occasion pass daily.)

And it might be our lot in life to surrender to the Combine. Maybe we can't help it and anything we do is just an exercise in futility. I mean if Russel M-Fing Jacobs works a desk job with Interior Designers then what hope do any of us have? If we can't do whatever it is we should do, than the next best thing is to inspire while we still have that fire. To make other people see that even if the war was lost long ago, the battle still needs to be fought.