The Man Who Did Not Want To Get Dressed
On Facebook people refer to my status updates as status downdates.
On Twitter my tweets are thought of as negative yelps that no one hears.
I lose followers and readers in the same way that an aging man loses strands of hair.
That is ok. I understand. In this day and age of widespread happiness propaganda, no one likes a constant reminder of that which we all wish would just shut up and disappear.
I prefer to keep knowledge of all possible negative outcomes close by my side. It’s a weapon that prevents me from getting caught up in the societal phenomena known as the suspension of disbelief.
My mind continually contemplates all that is wrong or can go wrong. It is a life sentence I did not create. Maybe it is the price one must pay for growing up around people who survived the holocaust. My disillusionment has grown up along side me in the same way the trees and my little sister have.
This is why I refuse to get dressed.
What is the point? Why waste the time?
There was a time when I loved fashion. I was the best dressed guy in my neighborhood. But why waste time with any of that anymore? One can only push away reality for so long. Fashion was helpful at one time but it is not anymore.
Do I even really exist? This is a question I often ask myself.
My wife seems to think that I am just defeated. Maybe so. Overtime I see how no one likes my status downdates, no one responds to my tweets and no one reads any of the blogs that I work hard to create.
I am uncomfortably aware of my own futility.
I see how others have hundreds of likes with every one one of their status updates and I become even more aware of my non-existence. Maybe my wife is right, whether it is conscious or unconscious, some place deep in me I feel as if I have received an F on my report card.
Why get dressed?
My shoes are untied. My sweatpants keep falling down around my knees. My underwear is too tight around my balls. I have been wearing the same black t-shirt for days. More than ten young people have melted in an Oakland warehouse party and all they wanted was a night to break free from all the bullshit social restraints. Why get dressed?
What is the point to any of this? Time is gradually sucking all of us up into its Great cocoon and turning us into something that will no longer, in any way, resemble the person we are now. None of us are even aware of this happening. Except for me of course. I see every little wrinkle forming on every persons face.
Do you understand what we are dealing with here? The gravity of this situation. Staring off into the digital world inside your smartphone will not save you. In retrospect, it will only make everything happen at much quicker speeds.
I’m not getting dressed today. My wife wants me to get dressed and go out with her. Some place fun, she suggests. But I will remain in the same clothes I fell asleep in. I don’t even want to tie my shoelaces. What is the point? It is all one twisted joke played on every single one of us.
But you have to find the beauty within all of it. If you don’t you will rapidly dissolve away. Or you will solidify into stone. There is beauty to be found in the heart of darkness. It just takes some effort. Get naked and have kinky sex with some of your friends. Drink good wine or beer. Maybe even treat yourself to good quality gin. Spend your money on things you want. Take up the habit of buying a lot of books and records. Even though you can’t read or listen to them all right away, just having them arounds gives a person something to look forward to. It is an easy way to have a sense of purpose. And without a sense of purpose we are all even more fucked than we already are.
I find beauty in not getting dressed. In sitting in my reading chair reading various books while not caring about getting dressed. Sometimes I will go into my garden, take off all my clothes and jack off into the flowers. Few things make more sense to me than jacking off into flowers.
For me a good day is a day that I have no reason or need to get dressed. Days that I am forced to get dressed because of financial necessity are terrible days. They are days that I must do things that I know are futile to do but necessary in order to sustain a decent quality of life. On these days I am no different from Sisyphus, rolling the proverbial boulder up and down the steep and painful hill.
But I know where to find the beauty. It is a practiced skill. I am able to find it for brief moments even on dark days where I am forced to get dressed. I have to get dressed. But I really do not want to get dressed. I want to stay as I am now, all the time.
There is a real point to all of this.
A man has less to lose and less to gain when he refuses to get dressed.