Demosophia

This is Not Blank.

I can't quite understand how so many in my generation, including myself, got to be so dissatisfied with what I'm going to conveniently call the status of their "life project", when there are so many interesting challenges shaping up. Consider 150 people packed into a 747 just as some Al Qaeda gollum leaps out of his seat and starts carving up a stewardess with a utility knife. If I sit back in my seat with the certainty that "George" will do something about the situation then the legitimacy of my complaint about the lowly status of my life project should be immediately in doubt. And while that sort of thing doesn't seem to happen very often, the reality is that there are analogous things going on all the time. And whatever George does to resolve those situations are his call, for good or ill.

Now don't get me wrong, looking at the Evening News would convince anyone that they're just a small cog in comparison to a some REALLY BIG WHEELS, but those productions are designed to make you look at yourself that way. Why? Because it reduces competition. Being engaged in "the show" is inherently interesting and rewarding (as both Thomas Jefferson and John Adams reminded us), so the Georges of the world would just as soon you left things up to them, TYVM. "We don't need you, E.S., G.F.ed, and don't bother calling", as brother Carlin used to say.

[No, George Bush isn't the only "George" around. What I'm talking about is the X in "let X do it." Where'd that come from? X can be any George, Dan, or Ahhnold that you figure is unimpeachably more qualified than you.]

About thirty years ago, after mistakenly adopting Tim Leary's prescription, I decided that I needed to plug back in, in order to preserve my sanity as well as my sense of belonging. When it comes down to it I actually love humanity more than I hate stupidity. So I went into a secondhand store and bought a used Hoffman bland-and-white TV, and started watching the broadcast programming I'd been turning up my nose at since dropping out. I deliberately re-programmed myself back into the culture. The media immersion offered a kind of relief, because at least I felt that I was still a part of things, even though the project manifested mostly as dumbass nonsense like the Andy Griffith Show. And to tell the truth, I could sometimes see real brilliance in Barney Fife, so part of me was singing along. That was the point. Dumb me, dumb you, dumb us.

But that was the hump of the dump. I think the whole concept of plugging back in was sound to begin with, but I've been watching the Boob Toob now for about the age of a young dinosaur and I'm not so sure it's still a good idea. I'm contemplating outplugging, from what looks to my nearsighted vision like "the mainstream." Being a part of this has lost its luster.

My generation is starting to die off too, which bothers the hell out of me. Some of us that happen to still be around remain tanglefooted in that anti-Vietnam era drama, like Joe Klein, and we've never quite grown up. Others have struck out... and struck out. Well, strike two anyway, after a base hit or two. Things aren't terrible... but we really miss the people who've left, and what we do doesn't seem to matter much. And that's our fault, as I was saying.

Pardon the overly-reflective nature of this post, but I'm beginning to long for the uncertainty of having been born into a pioneer era. I wouldn't mind being my great granddad busting the sod for the first time, or accumulating a new herd of those red-haired blondish English cattle they call Herefords... with the Twentieth Century looming in all its terrible promise. Not half bad, if only I didn't know how most of it turned out.

But in that regard I guess I feel more fortunate than 90% of the people with whom I share this continent, because I was born on the leading edge of the Human Experiment. I was born and raised on the northwestern boundary of the North American continent, at the latter end of a million-year northwesterly migration of humankind, just prior to the GREAT RECONNECTION with the remnant of the TERRESTRIAL BEACHHEAD. It's Childhood's End. The disorientation I and my clear-eyed siblings feel, must be part of the natural evolution of human consciousness as it catches up to itself.

And we are about to unfold our wings.

DEATH and CHAOS have been stalking us so long they're almost old friends by now. This is no fantasy. The scoreboard tells the tale of a real contest, not a route. In Pennsylvannia, Smedley Elementary has become a place where first graders perform lap dances in janitor closets (a practice they call "wallies") while kiddie-gangs beat up, threaten, torture and maim adult teachers attempting to instill some order in those hopeless lives. This is all the product of good intentions. My formula for education reform: God made bulldozers for a reason. Can you imagine what the world will be like when these kids mature without guidance and love? Well, more money won't solve that problem, Mr. Gore. Sorry. That's the "George" solution.

So if you feel like you have no mission in life, and there's nothing left for a person of vision and decent impulse to do, I know how you feel. But I'm beginning to suspect that it's just the programming we've accepted because others would sooner monopolize the vitality of taking the reins.

Tomorrow is your saving grace... The beginning ought to be looming in the windshield soon.

Posted by Demosophist at May 25, 2006 03:18 PM | TrackBack