I should fucking know better, but I can’t let this go. It’s got me distracted, and a distracted zombie gets fucking angry. I guess that’s no surprise, I have been told that at best of times, the anger in zombieville is palpable.
So I am going to explain a little bit about my issues on this, not because I figure anybody will give two tin shits or that it will make anyone think differently of me, but because it’s cheaper than a fucking therapist.
In the run up to the post, I described an idea that humankind has the knowledge to solve the problems we see, if we only have the ability to bring that knowledge to bear; for my part, I bring my knowledge and skills, the only ones I have, to bear in the built environment.
I don’t have answers outside of that. I never have claimed otherwise; I’m pretty much a functional moron, an idiot savant . I’m nobody’s hero. But I do what I do, when I can, although even that seems to be following kind of a declining arc. I imagined that other people are similar, doing what they can, when and where they can. It isn’t a universal solution; but it does make some aspects of the world or life better, even if it is an infinitesimal amount.
I do what I can do. It’s all I can do. And when I say that a lot of us doing what we can do, what ever that is, this is what I get:
“silly fairy tale” “pretty picture” “Mindless platitude” “kumbaya bullshit” ” Great. Wonderful plan” “Koom-bye-yah” “hopeless” “embarrassing” “riding tricycles and eating bugs”
I wasn’t talking about the Occupy protesters. I wasn’t talking about political solutions, or nationwide change.
I was talking about what I do.
And that received mockery and scorn. Derided as useless and idiotic. Sneered at as ineffectual. And constant insistence that widespread violence and destruction is the only “real” “serious” solution.
I was not presenting a plan for national change or political power. I talked about WHAT I HAVE DONE WITH MY LIFE. I guess widespread destruction would indeed solve that.
It was intended as a personal post. perhaps there is a place for trying to hash out progressive futures, but I wasn’t talking about it at that particular time; in any case, everything I said got a nice fresh coating of shit.
So, at the end of the day I am pissed that I am unable to effectively communicate with people that I had hoped were friends, I’m pissed that I couldn’t keep a fucking comment thread from turning pear shaped and slipping into acrimony and hatred, I’m pissed that I have to shut down a conversation as it turns ugly (not the least on my part), and I’m pissed that now some visitors that I had welcomed to this crappy stupid blog feel that the environment is unwelcoming to them.
Mostly, I am just pissed that somehow, a few comments that missed the point of what I was trying to say have pretty much ripped what flickering hope and good feeling I had managed to nurture out of my gut, like Crossbow Guy and Emo Rick ripped that woodchuck out of that zombie’s innards on the Walking Dead.
Every year around this time, one day will come when an urge to just chuck it all and point the car down the highway will come on strong, and I find myself being unproductive and reticent, occupied with thoughts of highways that lead West, and other roads that lead over mountains; and others that lead to the Sea. And places where I’ve never been and nobody knows me. The compulsion toward movement fades in a day or several, usually; winter comes on, the first snows fall, and the landscape closes up finally and completely.
Yeah. It’s October. I never could get the hang of fucking October.