Analysis

Pardon me if I fail to see the big picture. Because while all monotheistic religions promote the concept of a fantastic afterlife in Heaven if you are a believer, honestly, I can’t see the appeal. “Believe, and spend an eternal afterlife with God in Paradise.” Erm. But why would I want that?

Thanks so much for inviting me to sleep at your house. I never would’ve been able to fall asleep at my own house what with the comfortable and familiar bed, the lack of snoring, and the wholly reassuring thought that my own parents would be sleeping a few rooms over and would protect me if sex-offenders picked our locks or if ghouls arrived and tried to eat my bones.

What I was looking for out on the dirt roads, in those alleys, was not some bedrock foundation from which to launch an attack on the unreality of my everyday life, but a way to break the boundary between nature and culture. To put this in Marxist language, my goal was to overcome alienation.

Because you should really be applying all of your judgments and insults to yourself. If there’s one thing I hate more than listening to people complain, it’s listening to them complain about Lady Gaga. You call her overrated, weird, ugly, fugly, talentless, over-the-top, fake, lame, loser, gross, theatrical, stupid, and the list goes on and on.

Like it or not, the end of the world narrative has crept into our culture, bled out from Christianity into all kinds of secular progressive causes. The vision of a global warming apocalypse stands out as a prime example. There is now scientific consensus that global warming is occurring, and that it is being influenced by people in a predictable fashion. 

My point is this: Power, as Foucault says, comes from everywhere. It is not something that exists out there, that comes from the top, that is enforced by police (although it’s that, too.) Power is what makes you move, physically and emotionally.

The days of simply slapping a “sincerely” and a flowery signature at the end have gone the way of the handwritten letters. Nowadays, there’s pressure to squeeze every ounce of digital face time into making yourself into an unbeatable kick-ass person. The way you end an email is the last impression you give to somebody, whether it be a future employer or your roommate.

Like, if I knew that woman in real life, I’d be kind of scared and maintain a safe but still involved social distance, the kind where I see her at parties, we talk and drink at glossy social gatherings, rarely in the sunlight and she’s much more useful as a conversation topic than a close confidante. I love her but I don’t Love her.

The rough and tumble realities of ‘big city living’ is little more than an exhausted trope at this point, but it certainly stands the test of time. Will you screw someone over, if it affords you an opportunity for success? Are you even willing to get exactly what you want? Is it tenacity and strength of will that converts erstwhile hobbyists into real artists?