Writing as catharsis

Swallowed whole by banal conversation

Posted in Ranting and rambling by Lachlan R. Dale on August 27, 2012
Ralph Steadman

Illustration by Ralph Steadman

What a ridiculous world this is.

It is so easy to be consumed by irrelevance and distracted by plastic. Banal conversations can swallow our lives whole.

Pettiness and self-pity are brewed in our hearts, and encourged by the heat – one of many, endless destructive cycles of the self that roar and oscillate until their screech can never be erased, and our psyche is left permanently scarred.

They chatter incessantly. No, I do not want to join you. No, what you are saying does not interest me. No, I simply do not care.

The differences between the introvert and the extrovert; one reflects, the other projects, at times spewing out so much unchecked out into the universe that one would have little hope of recovery.

Do you listen to yourself speak? Of course not. That would be uncharacteristic by definition.

The sheer amount of blackgray sludge that pours out of the mouths of humans is a wonder. I would prefer we waste not a breath and err on the side of caution. Ponder upon what might be considered truly important, and worthy of expansion. What is of value? And how would you measure it if you even knew?

How many would change their own lives if they only savoured that thought for a little while? Instead, I am surrounded by a smug sense of sureity, grounded in little more than ego-massage and self-consumption.

How many regularly taste their own seed in the belief that it might bring more power? They consume their own essence, and imagine this is somehow the way of truth. They merely feed the senses and heap self on top of self. In isolation it means nothing, and can mean nothing.

They say the distinction between humans (who allegedly have rights, value) and animals (free to be used as comodities, worthy of far lesser consideration) is the distinction between self-awareness and consciousness. I would love for neurology to perhaps examine the depths and variation of self-awareness.

Surely there are tiers.

How many purposely block out the mind’s aptitude for honest self reflection? How many listen only to the ego; the blamer; the liar; the fool; the farcial spreader of blatant untruths as their sole confidant and guide? Can they seriously be considered self-aware in the fullest and best sense?

The simple fact is we operate within a culture that screams incessantly at us, neon lights blaring. It is a rainbow whore dancing shamelessly to attract attention; face and form ever changing, from a violently vomiting handbag poodle in a rich girls arms, to yet another contest of alleged reality: “farmer wants a ladyboy”. The vapidity is enough to make one sick.

But it brings a real problem. Distraction – at all times. We can control the level of distraction; we can embrace it, or we can isolate ourselves from it. We can be consumed by nothingness and trivialities, or we can ponder, perhaps, a better way of living. A way predicated on honest self-reflection, on trying to better yourself as a human being, on understanding your own self, as well as other people. On empathy. On thoughtfulness.

Where are we at right now? At the upper echelons of humanity’s capability for humanity? Or are we more like a gaunt, skeletal addict, cramming his own lumpy, diluted essence into his face, with grand delusions that something new might dawn?


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