Jaded

I hate explaining my problems, or explaining myself in general, to someone of whom I already know does not and is not going to understand me, who is furthermore likely to conclude any conversation of a personal nature with hollow platitudes that ultimately leave me feeling angry, jaded, and more depressed than before; because, in the aforementioned scenario, what often ends up happening is I become resentful of the person as a result of the rumination that inevitably follows in which I will compulsively obsess over how a person who supposedly cares enough about me to concern oneself with whatever be my issue that I have just belabored to divulge unto them in great detail has the audacity to in turn merely prescribe absurdly vague, to the degree of being ultimately irrelevant, platitudes as any sort of supposed solution—to anything whatsoever—but to say nothing of a specific problem possessed of particulars containing multitudes of nuance (which, realistically, is all of the problems ever) seemingly without once ever having had the foresight nor hindsight to critically examine any of this nonsensical gibberish that most people likely only (at times, explicitly stated even) derive from some popular new show or movie typical of the cultural mainstream but whose script or plot contains lines or moments for which it is no coincidence are now being used to fuel the hottest new pseudo-philosophical takes making their rounds through the masses and permeating social circles in almost eerily clockwork fashion more quickly than would an actual virus thrice the virulence of SARS-CoV-2, yet to my very face as if I am an individual possessed of neither wit, awareness, education, the internet, nor the unique experiences of my life that have molded me into the person I am today (which is one who has apparently albeit unwittingly by some accounts fermented a reputation for being “woke”—whatever the fuck that means—but, more importantly, one who is in fact quite critical of mainstream society), these trite and overplayed clichés are dogmatically repackaged and presented to me as advice for the problems in my life that I in good faith chose to confide in someone whose more often than not brainless response suggests the exchange was never really about concern for how I am doing, it is about them being able to merely appear concerned, if only and often for the purpose of deluding themselves into thinking they actually are concerned in order to feel better about themselves for not actually caring about someone or something for which either they, themselves, believe or society has told them to believe they should feel concern.

So, when many of you so often ask of me why I do not share more about my personal issues, be you so-called friends or fans, or when you reach out to me out of concern and I give you the cold shoulder or some generic response, this is the reason—exacerbated who-knows-how-much by my experience and exposure as somewhat of a public figure and all the bullshit this entails; exacerbated yet again, of course, when sex has been at the core of this and the sole motivation for countless people even asking how the fuck I am doing—and no, that the focus is sex in my industry is not THE sole reason for my cynicism altogether, for any cheapshot moralizers who feel this way, because I know public figures such as anything from pastors to prostitutes who feel the same damn way that I do; and then, all of this is yet again exacerbated by what has been most of all revealing, and these are the events having taken place during 2020 and beyond, which is to say apart from what has been patently obvious to the vast majority of people, what I have most notably observed from being firsthand engaged is how activism and “altruism” are so often selfishly motivated by clout, and then otherwise not entirely unlike when people ask others how they are doing. Many people it seems are inclined to blame social media for much of this, and indeed many others problems, but one cannot blame social media for the things of which human beings were clearly already more than capable and clearly were already doing. Racism, for example, did not show up on the scene with the advent of social media. In fact, thankfully there is such a thing as social media, or most of you would still be in denial and accusing Black people of lying about us being shot dead in the street by police for no fucking reason.

One could perhaps strongly argue there is something of a causal loop going on with our vices and social media, but the gist of what social media has done, at least speaking broadly as a concept notwithstanding the perverse psychological machinations motivated by capitalism currently being abused at its core, is serve as a mirror for society to reflect upon itself; and what the vast majority of you have done is either ran so quickly and so far, to the point of delusion, from the monster you saw as you took a glimpse into the abyss, or as one who gazed for entirely too long, you came to embrace it entirely and wholeheartedly. It would seem there is little room for moderation in this existence, and frankly, I care not whether the existence of humanity persists but for even a single day longer. The legacy itself is one of delusion and most of you are pathetic.

In the words of Friedrich Nietzsche:

“In some remote corner of the universe, poured out and glittering in innumerable solar systems, there once was a star on which clever animals invented knowledge. That was the highest and most mendacious minute of ‘world history’—yet only a minute. After nature had drawn a few breaths the star grew cold, and the clever animals had to die. One might invent such a fable and still not have illustrated sufficiently how wretched, how shadowy and flighty, how aimless and arbitrary, the human intellect appears in nature. There have been eternities when it did not exist; and when it is done for again, nothing will have happened.”

You want to how I am doing?

Go fuck yourself.

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