This looks to be another journal entry; the only substantive things to be said, I imagine, will concern me, my unfiltered thoughts
Sometimes, perhaps often, when a famous person dies, typically a famous old person, one hears something along the lines of ‘person X is survived by their beloved person Y, without whom, person X just couldn’t have done good thing Z (or anything at all)’.
I hear this, I read this, and I wonder what greater good I could achieve if I could offload some of the burden of want, of what emotional instability just comes with the job (re: to be a human/animal chemistry set of emotions and inclinations that could be subdued, or brought out more, by such a friend, lover, close trusted confidant.
Of course, that amount of toxic masculinity which I keep within myself, namely, the understanding that I ought not ask for help, I ought not complain, I must not view my struggles as being struggles in want of another to help me.
I must do this alone.
If and when I get my life in order, then, surely then the whole operation will be good, useful, and beautiful.
I need to find a job. Well, it may well be the case that it comes to pass that, yes, a job, any job will do, and must do, as I have allowed myself to trade time (wasted time) for debt.
What I truly need is a career…
I’d like to say that I don’t know how I went through so many productive years without finding a home for my creative mind… but I do. I do.
Should I have gone to University, rather than college? Perhaps I’d be writing more. Perhaps I’d be teaching? Had I stayed the course, I’d probably be somewhere.
Should I have followed advertising copywriting? Perhaps. Oh, the opportunity I had, there.
Moral compass, leading me toward the newsroom. Mmm, it’s rather clear that I should have asserted myself, more, during those times.
I really felt at home in the newsroom.
Spending morning and afternoons in university, spending evenings with news people, copy editors, journalists… that was my peak form.
A mouse, I was. The wrong publication (for me), it was. And so, the quiet mouse kept his furry little head down, and he quietly stayed in his place.
To what end? A better paying job in marketing. A job for which one could argue I am presently qualified. Bleh.
Hmm… let me think. Had I all the time and money, what would I do?
I would go back to University, I would finish my undergrad in Philosophy and political science.
And then? Well, then, given that all the time and money (re: material freedom), then I would and could be so content as to write the book, finish the work…
But why do I not do this, now?
A silence more silent and heavy than words can, here, detail.
A man divided.
Do I become the photographer, do I become the author… do I find some office job that will accept me.
Do I run away?
I know not.
In truth, I just want to take beautiful photos of people, I want to be a philosopher king, I want to guide life toward the beautiful, and I’d like to participate in this beauty in a constructive way.
Politics? Am I capable of this?
I say philosopher king, mostly in jest.
I just… I feel as though my interests in this world, my love for life, humanity, and the good and useful progress of either is very, very important to me. I feel this is so, to such a degree, that I possess some honest and authentic quality that wants to enrich life itself, before enriching this particular body/life of mine.
So as to say, I feel as though I have meditated on my (re: Spinoza’s) metaphysics for so long that my brain feels like it is structured in a way that wants others, wants everyone to live a beautiful life.
There is so much obvious greed, stupidity, so much ugliness in politics, in politicians… I almost feel drawn to such work by way of a need to ascend to my civic duty.
Similarly, it is my strength, my interest in helping people that makes me want to become a police officer. But, the whole deal about being shot, having to constantly deal with troubled people and perilous situations (interestingly, typing that, I felt the draw)(that comment, notwithstanding), does not bode well with me.
Mmm, perhaps if I lost my parents, then, perhaps I would feel more comfortable with getting into a dangerous line of work.
Suffice to say, I am an able body, an able mind, and I want to help this place, my family, my friends, city, country, my planet, my people, life itself.
And lo, here I lay, in bed, nothing but potential within me (well, plenty of doubt, guts, chicken, etc.), and (I mean it this time) nothing but opportunity, possibility before me, out there in the world.
If I continue to stay quiet, as I did during the rise of Trump and alt/far-right Trumpism, then I deserve what we get afterwards.
The leader we need:
We need someone who knows where life came from, and how we are all connected, by not just our lineage, but our common planet, our common path.
We need someone who does not wish to enrich themselves.
We need someone who does not hate.
We need someone who is prepared to do unpopular, necessary things, and whom we can trust to explain this to us.
Most of all, especially now, we need someone who can make well the temperament of the people. For, what good is a great leader if the people have been made sick, petty, and mean?
These divisive tactics… the dog whistles of the right. It makes dogs, barking dogs of the people.
Behold, the meandering path of my mind.
Will I ever have a family? Will I ever live as my parents do? Will I finish my book?
I’ll admit it, I’m lost, so frustrated as to be tired, in debt, and time, like a receding edge beneath my feet, it marches on, resolute.
The Earth, this place is the most beautiful thing imaginable.
We can do better. I can, and I must, do better. If not for me, if not for my loving parents… then for the Earth, for Life, for the living Cosmos.
Oh, Cosmos, give me the strength to do the good that needs to be done.
Everyone that knows me, they know me as an intelligent, able person (so far as I know). They have no cause to believe I am falling.
And falling I am…
Mmm, but a bird falls, and in falling, it picks up speed. Watch the bird fly. I’d like to soar.
This life, it is what we make of it.
In closing, here is a wonderful song, perhaps an equally wonderful music video;
DATA – Don’t Sing
Love, sing about love, think about the vivid, sing about war. ❤