Tuesday Hatred: Parabolic
More or less 25 years ago I experienced a zero-crossing. The sign of my well-being gently changed from negative to positive. My well-being in function of time is hard to measure. I do think it kind of maximized about 10 years ago. I hate to say that, being rather square, it doesn’t look likely I will avoid my second zero-crossing. Worse, I hate that it feels like it’s imminent. Here’s to hoping my polynomial has a reasonable term in the third degree.
I hate parabolic. I hope my vengeance comes in that third degree.
If you are lucky enough not to have been bored to death with polynomials of the quadratic kind when you were young enough to imagine aliens would rescue us from all that menial labor for which computers and robots were invented, you won’t mind a long sentence that promises to explain the above in more humane terms. The parabolic essence is: what goes up must come down. My family took me to a maximum but my gravity takes me down.
I hate gravity, specifically the one that I need to own up to as mine.
But more than all this, I hate being in suspense. And now for a rant.
What I hate is happy people. People who got it all figured out. Leading some mathematical life where their kicks are condensed in the free time they work so hard for. They’ll tend to like horror movies as well or bungee-jumping or whatever they can report on as being the dangerous life. As long as it’s nicely cordoned off and ultimately they keep control. That is why those activities are so expensive: risk-taking costs money because after the suspense (après ski) they need to feel pampered by lots of people. They earned that by playing hard, and they earned the right of playing hard by working hard.
I sure hope deep down they all feel insecure. At least that means there’s still a lovable part to them.
“Work hard, play hard.” has to be the most moronic slogan ever invented. It’s tattoo’ed in their little tiny brains. Along the name of Steve Jobs. As long as it’s hard, I guess. Only the tough survive. Except that the rest of us does too, more or less, to suffer their stupidities. Worse, to be the audience applauding their boring repetitive play of success and merit. Oh boy, do I hate that. Listening to their gladiator stories (the news is full of them) in which, invariably, they give themselves the thumbs up. Win or lose, always a win because they’ve eliminated the possibility of real loss. Rigged the game.
So you see, that’s my gravity. Its incoherence is encouraging. It’s my only way to keep my insanity, in this clean bathroom humanity is becoming to be. The type of bathroom that is making you want to slit your wrists. Not mine, not really.
I’m just looking for a third term.
But, oh, well, hmmm, a third term in this world? Their world? The world of calculation and planning and achievement and merit and role models. Of clearing the garbage towards the South and fencing the southerners out when they flee the stench. ‘Let ’em clean their own garbage.’ (except that it’s ours) ‘We did.’ (except of course that they did)
I hate the divisive we.
We’ve never used the word ‘we’ that much. We don’t use it anymore to affirm who we are. We use it simply to deny that they have any claim to what we have. This word has become a possessive. We earned this. You didn’t. It’s an abstract xenophobia where exclusion now is individualized and therefor also highly flexible. Anybody in particular can be excluded – and no shame has to be felt because nobody is excluded based on group features. We’re on the moral high ground looking down at all those wannabe’s down in the dirt, trying to get up. “Work hard,” we shout, “then you’ll be able to play hard.” Meanwhile we build up our moral high ground so only the few can get there whilst a lot of us fall off. “See how fair it is.” and another floor of our moral high ground is erected. Smaller but higher.
The ever shrinking ‘we’ which at rock bottom is just a collection of ego’s draining the life out of everybody else. Consuming them like gasoline. Just feed them success stories, films of the few who made it and they will recreate constantly. Fight amongst themselves, so as to keep envious enough of our peace to want to be us. We need them to want to be us. It is the only way we can effectively burn them up. Imagine they don’t want to come up to our high ground and just wander off minding their own business. What will we do then? Clean our own bathroom? You gotta be kidding.
The word is merit. Oh, crazy!
Merit is the carrot. Everything else is the stick. We (had parents who) earned it. We live in a society (our parents) organized well. Don’t tell us they succeeded in this by using a more inclusive sense of ‘we’. We are FULL (of it) and have to protect their work and guarantee a better future for out kids. That’s what our parents would have wanted. You say they say: it is not exactly like that. Well, we say they are demented. We’ll take care of them as we take care of what (we think) they would have wanted. We’re all for humanity and stuff, as long as we who deserved it don’t spoil it by sharing stuff with people who still have to show, as parents, that their children, maybe, deserve it.
The only way is up, everything is hyperbole. Fuck the menial parabolic people who doubt, are in suspense because they hate suspense. There’s only one word for them: traitors. It’s best to kick them out. They do not deserve it. This place is crowded already as it stands.
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