When People Say, “The World…”, Replace it with, “My Mind…”.

When I find myself submerged in a sea of contemporary social interaction, I can’t help but swallow up my surroundings and place them in mason jars; separating each observation and qualifying it into its appropriate categories. Objectification, superiority view, insecurity, complete loss of identity, etc. I see them all, functioning on their planes and finding that beautiful balance where everyone has a role which fulfills an entire room of utterly lost people who convince themselves they are found and advocate the path of righteousness. It’s a regular holiday staff party, complete with gift-exchange; nobody’s needs are being met. Yet we all gather, year after year, dressed in our Sunday best, to throw back spiked egg nog and pretend to be enlightened by Ted’s, “You know what you should do’s” while, perhaps, imagining him fucking you from behind over the copy machine. Yawn. It’s a sickness, really. I’m having an entirely different level of experience, yes. I can feel it. Though, not able to be qualified as better, worse, higher, lower, etc. All of these are but tiresome attempts at control, born of insecurity. I am just as much a part of this as anybody else on the in-or-outside of this very room. As I look around, I’m instantly printing all the data on a linear level; trying to symbolize what I find to be relevant in the mass of a seemingly useless (but intriguing) cloud of misunderstood emotion and pretentiousness. I don’t intentionally do this- it’s a habit (coping mechanism; tomato/tomato). I should be considered a mental athlete. That’s a narcissistic notion. I have those kinds of thoughts more often when I’m drinking. When I’m not drinking, I’m much more in tune with my love for humbleness and humility… Much more in touch with everyone.

And don’t get me wrong- with every strange interaction denoting humanity, empathy, a sense of community, and sometimes just common decency in here, I raise it in a salute of honor. I rarely feel the need to expose my weaponry in any traditional sense, and more often than not, I proudly hang the sucker, untouched, upon my return home. This is what I’m really sitting so quietly and patiently for, honest. But then, I know what alcohol does to the nervous system. After years of study and application of human anatomy and physiology, I know the exact effects it has on the body. As far as the emotional brain is concerned, alcohol lowers social inhibitions. It makes you more brazen… More numb. You’re more likely to say the things you earnestly think. Maybe it’s because you’re not collected enough to put together some grand scheme… A version of yourself which you, on a normal day, so mindlessly put into motion. You’re weakened… You’re not on your game, you’re… Vulnerable (but still somehow invincible).

I actually thoroughly enjoy being vulnerable. I find pleasure in experiencing a myriad of emotions, as long as they’re authentic. I don’t really care if said are quintessentially good, bad, ugly, sad, mad, happy, surprised... What the fuck ever. I strive to only experience the real feels, man. The greatest drug there ever was, those feels. The lot of the rest of it is bullshit, and perpetuates delusion. The objective is to recognize formerly accepted delusion, and to see potential delusion coming down the pike. It’s becoming much easier these days… Maybe because I’m getting older. More experience certainly doesn’t hurt. Learning rather early on that Ted-fucking is a waste of my time has freed up other areas of energy expenditure which have led to some emotional and intellectual progression. I digress. Vulnerability is fucking epic. It’s such a beautiful, beautiful, human quality.

It’s strange how something so obvious and inherent in everyone is cast off to the gallows, and especially in a group greater than two. It’s like it’s socially unacceptable to be human and vulnerable (unless the appearance of which will aid in manipulation, of course). I mean, I get it; it’s not conducive to one’s survival to be vulnerable. Whether referring to emotional or literal, predators are real. But then, we live in an age where actual threats to our survival as a species are no longer particularly relevant. We are at the top of the food chain, and we’re fully functional within a society of industrial take-over. Crime is at an all time low. Every other organism- and our habitat- is in full threat for survival, but we certainly are not. So then insert new philosophical problems, such as how to operate socially. Not that this is a new problem, but it’s always evolving, same as everything else. Psycho-social problems and inapplicable hardware… Sounds like the name of a cereal brand.

From my perspective, I see these kinds of social operations to be a dramatic production, complete with stage and a full cast of characters. I do consider this may be solely due to my choice in a predominant role as observer. It’s not so much that I mind being observed; quite the opposite actually… It just seems to be so infrequent that I’m intrigued (not the right word) enough to consider the observations made upon me. I realize this is a ridiculous statement, but nonetheless, I believe in full honesty. Honesty, of course, is subjective. Perhaps I’ve now circled back far enough to describe the stage?

Yes, the cast are all actively rehearsing their parts. They switch characters from time to time; trying on one another’s costumes and changing their makeup. For the most part, everyone knows their role and has a pretty solid ground to exercise their character’s boundaries by the time they’ve made it into this bar. The stage is likely familiar to them. The set may have changed a bit, but they can recognize the spaces in which their character will shine the brightest, and, on a good night, will go right for those openings. On a bad night, they might decide to take up temporary time as a fellow observer, which is always refreshing for me to see. Or else they might decide to flippantly try on new hats until they can no longer comprehend their environment, and subsequently, themselves (which was the subconscious objective in the first place, mind you). New essay title: The Chicken or the Egg? Yes, here I sit, sipping beer and taking notes. Ok, sometimes I dance. I do really like dancing… It’s just I rarely get asked anymore by someone I don’t imagine trying to wear my skin suit by the time our number’s up. The world is a crazy place. The world, is my mind.

Maybe general disillusionment is a plague, but I sure can entertain myself without losing integrity. I know; charming.