Friday, April 13, 2012

Pathological Narcissism

I don't think I'm going to write anymore for a while, or maybe ever. I feel like this will suffice for a long time. I feel like it's the last thing I really care about saying. I want to organize it in a competent way, but I'm not good at organization, it's easier to just vomit out large thought blocks.

I deleted my Facebook because, in the same day, someone posted a picture of themselves hunched awkwardly, face down on a floor with eels crawling out of their body with the caption: "eels raping my ass," and then someone tagged themselves at the OBGYN.

A lot of people are *kind of* smart. Smart enough to read a book instead of reading the Cliff's Notes. Smart enough to understand irony, and conceptual thinking, but not particularly concerned with academics or team sports, or things where they get any kind of "real world" validation for their existence. They might be kind of good at writing, or kind of good at drawing, but they probably spend most of their formative years feeling like a freak or a "fggt" or whatever, and if not that, then just completely and totally invisible.

The thing is, there's really no need for "real world" validation now, because there's the internet where you create a Facebook profile and have a shrine to yourself where you can post about taking a shit and people "like" it. It's created a whole subculture of people who are internet famous and think LITERALLY everything they do is worthy of being written about and consumed by other people. It's created a world where you don't have to be "good" at anything. You can just make a song on garage band and get a soundcloud account and someone will "blog" about you. Where every book, or piece of "relevant" writing is a musing about how difficult it is to be a person in your 20s who does things, or all the incredible things that happened in your inner monologue when you were stoned, or the deep emotional significance of someone making you a mix tape and then jacking off on your face. And yeah, you realize everyone's had their face jacked off on, but not like you. You have a unique and novel perspective on EVERYTHING and the world cannot go another day without hearing it.

People write stories and make music and films on their macbook, and then condense them down into something that can be "tweeted" about and then people screen grab their tweets and write about them on their "blog" in the hopes that one day they, too, can be "relevant" enough to have their tweets about sleeping, eating, shitting, and being cum on blogged about somewhere and everyone will love it.

People say they do things because they really care about "art." they just love art so much that they're willing to be an impoverished, loser, fuck up forever to keep making it, but no one loves anything except having strangers on the internet validate the fact that they're alive.

At some point in your life, you feel sad about being a misfit, and someone makes the mistake of telling you that no one likes you because you're "special." That no one liked Lou Reed, or Andy Warhol, or Franz Kafka, and that one day, all the high school football stars and trophy wives will be fat, and dumb, and irrelevant, and you'll be  doing something amazing. So you spend the rest of your life desperate for confirmation that they were right. They're really just setting you up for a life of abject misery where you wake up everyday and the first thing you do is go into some internet k hole in the hopes that someone posted on your timeline or wrote about you in a blog, or "liked" your relevant project page, or making new "art" so the whole circle jerk can continue. They're setting you up for a life where you're probably going to wind up getting fucked up everyday to drown out the voice in your head trying to remind you of how insignificant you actually are, and where you post pictures of eels eating out your asshole because overall, the entire experience was well worth the ten minutes of attention from people who don't give a fuck whether you live or die, except maybe in the sense that without you, there's more time and type space available for them.

I kind of want a different reason to wake up everyday or something.



No comments:

Post a Comment