Does it matter that in all my travels, in all my years working for the man, in all those board rooms, sales pitches, project discussions, ex-wives, etc., I’ve never met a person that I look up to, admire or consider to be someone of talent or expertise. This, dear worst-reader, is the hell so many must live in. Well, at least the so-many that can realise it in the first place. But on that note I do die-gress.
There literally is no choice in this life, don’t you know dear worst-reader. Even if/when you leave your country (not for greener grass, of course, but just to fcuking leave it in order to breath) and expose yourself to other mindsets, culture, pu$$y and, of course, booze, there is no one out there to meet that is worth the effort. Perhaps this is a class (caste) issue. But let’s not make things too complicated. Eh?
Hopefully with this worst-claim, I’m not admitting to a/my false-God dependencies. I don’t want someone to look up to, to admire. No. I’m simply questioning the validity of wealth and power. Also. At this point in (my) life, it’s one of the things that really does busy my useless-eater worst-mind. Especially now that I’m well into forced early retirement and, of course, full dependency on the kindness of others and strangers.
At fifty-five years I have this one (last) question: How come I never met anybody that I look up to? Obviously there are those who I look up to but would/could never meet. In most of these cases I probably wouldn’t even want to meet those people. Looking up to them is enough. Or? I mean… What would I say to them? How would I even greet them? Should I curtsy? Indeed.
Short list of those worst-writer looks up to and would (maybe) like to meet:
- Fidel Castro
- Barack Obama
- Christopher Hitchens
- Steve Jobs
- Sam Shepard
Wait a sec. Of the short-list above, only one of them ain’t dead. Does that say anything about my age or my admiration and criteria for false-Gods? Nomatter.
The thing that motivated this worst-writing about admiration and false-Gods, is the article linked to below. It is yet another brilliant piece by Chris Hedges. And since I’ve read so much from him, I’m not actually keen on meeting him. Btw, I do admire Mr. Hedges. Wait. Maybe that’s not true. I actually had a dream once (right after reading one of his books) where I met Chris Hedges after our plane crashed. No seriously. It’s true. On a stormy night in July I was on a plane to Curacao and it crashed somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic near an uncharted volcanic island. After the crash a few survivors floated to the island on part of the plane’s fuselage. Chris Hedges and I shared our glasses during the ordeal as his broke in the crash and I only had one lens left in my glasses. He was busy the whole time trying to either write something or read something. Indeed. He had better things to do than worry about having just crashed. I, on the other hand, was coming on to a supermodel that crashed with us–and didn’t need my glasses much. And so. Hedges and I didn’t talk much on account when he wasn’t reading or writing he was prepping for a boxing match that he was supposed to participate in on Curacao in conjunction with a US presbyterian church. Or something like that. So much for worst-dreams, eh. Anywho.
The article linked to below is brilliant. It’s brilliant because, well, as usual, Hedges nails it as he summarises not just who/what my beloved&misssed #Americant is/has become, but he does so in a way that I can totally relate to. I’ve been claiming for years not only that there’s no one in my universe worth meeting or admiring, but that almost anyone worth anything (in my universe) is either a disciple-wannabe or a victim of PT Barnum. Yes, that is a suburban hell up-bringing. Even those that have scraped by, by working for the man, some of whom I grew up with, are all so invested (vested) in that same upbringing that they are unable to differentiate mediocrity, mendacity and mental illness derived from the what/need of money money money. The fact that they have more consume-to-survive power than their neighbour and they’ve ALL done so according to the Barnum predilection: you either have to have-more or you have not–what else is there to do but live the false-life of: fcuk ’em. Yes. And so. Those who gave the world Barnum’s reborn corpse that is #Trump’s hair, this is your making–and I know you all are proud. Congratulations, suckers.
Link that motivated this post: