losers

The True Face of Humanity: An Essay

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Jean-Paul Sartre had me believing there was no human nature. He wasn’t the only one to argue that point, and maybe not  even the best, but when he spoke I believed him. I crave the complete responsibility for my own actions. There is a hitch in the plan though, that is only provided by experience. The more I live the less I believe humans are neutral morally. The more I live, the more evil I see. The evil of violence, which humans gorge on. The evil of inaction, exemplified by the lazy generation I was born into, but we are not alone. The evil in the way that love ends and how we make our most intimate friends and lovers into strangers. This also happens with family.

Loyalty is dead, or is at least left bleeding in some gutter, unattended to. We have become loyal to only our desires and personal ambitions, and not even the sort of real ambition only certain people possess. The false ambitions – that of wealth, personal “success,” and moving up some invisible and indifferent latter – also push people in strange ways.

When we eat, we seek to feast. When we get ahead, we seek to take metres instead of inches. Progress has become a clock spinning out of control, and what of morality? Nobody gives a damn about morality, because it doesn’t pay the bills. Morality is argued about in dark corners of philosophy departments, where even as we speak, it has taken a back seat to mechanical debates about logic and the obscure discussions surrounding the meaning of a solitary word.

We are not some privileged animal, despite our sophisticated brains, because we spoil and waste our talents. We possess the tools to look deeply and meaningfully at our lives and our predicaments, and we would rather use them on the inconsequential and mundane tasks that have no bearing on our being. We are the most advanced animal, well ironically the most stupid. No other creature on this planet rapes it or takes advantage of it the way that we do.

No other animal finds ways to mass murder its own species and other species with such efficiency. Our faculties have evolved, but unfortunately, our morality has not evolved at the same rate. Our moral compass is pointing north, telling us we are good human beings despite the evidence to the contrary.

Sure, you don’t recycle as much as you should, and you drive a distance you could walk in five minutes, but at least you don’t own a Hummer. And if you own a Hummer, at least you don’t fly a private jet plane. And if you own a jet plane, at least you donate to charities, and maybe you dump money into carbon off-sets for some of your travels or buy Monsanto seeds for poor Africans to become dependent on. They were already bankrupt and starving before the seeds anyways, right?

None of this is new, or hip, or popular to talk about, except the environmentalism, and even that depends on the circle of friends you keep. Humanity is just not that good to each other. They are awful in intimate situations, brutal in social settings and the worst in mob-sized dealings. There’s no cure coming, no sudden invent of a gadget that will teach people how to live better, deeper and smarter. There is nothing like the investment that gets poured into science and technology, but they care about your vehicles, new drugs they can invent new illnesses for and new ways to sell you something you don’t need.

But let’s not talk about all of that. It’s a good ol’ Saturday night and the people are dancing and drinking, and if they are not dancing and drinking, they are losers anyways. Certainly, I am a loser. I’m a loser to be spending a Saturday night reading interesting books, writing about how broken our species is and drinking a tall glass of water and reality. Charles Bukowski said what was needed was an old school jester, but even the cleverest and goofiest clown in history can not show us a shred of redemption in humanity. We are in a funk like we have never seen before. Humans before used to break everything, but they couldn’t destroy their planet with their stupidity. We possess the most knowledge at any point in human history, and it’s only led us to innovative ways of crippling ecosystems and hearts.

So don’t tell me there is no human nature. As far as I know, history has taught us what human nature is. Easter Island is human nature. Hiroshima and Auschwitz are human nature. The Crusades are human nature. Two people sitting alone trying to figure out where they go from here after one lover has confessed to infidelity, lying and stealing, both peoples’ hearts crushing and not for the first time, are human nature. The way we stab the earth with needles and explosives for minerals and oil to build more luxury SUVs, and over-priced trinkets, just to see all that money climb up some greedy tree where the top one per cent collect their lop-sided earnings, is human nature.

Human nature is not a broken concept, and I’m surprised the goblins, trolls and devils of our world do not being funding Arts programs seriously. They should be teaching people there is no human nature – although Sartre wouldn’t make sense to teach, because he preaches responsibility and free will – because there are always those in control of money, and those without it, and that’s all based on human nature. Humans idolize and place people on pedestals. Having your face on television, your voice on the radio and your general idiot nature yapping all the time, makes women and men want to bed you without having met you. Don’t tell me we are not broken, or that there’s some sunny dawn coming to chase away all the bad times. We are the bad times. We are humans being natural, and we are broken beyond repair.

so what's the rush?

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

Haven't remembered my dreams in weeks,

there's been nothing worth remembering,

you've managed to slip away from them,

there's nothing you were resembling.

 

And that's the life of it,

and what happens by the death of it,

always trying hard,

always suffering a split,

in your guilty conscience,

maybe I was obnoxious,

and maybe you never tried,

hard enough,

to prevent the greatest loss,

so grimey and well-stuck in,

you couldn't prevent the deterioration with floss,

and constant brushing, of your teeth,

more appropriately, fangs,

you sucked the life out of me,

but i kicked you away in the nick of time,

the hero never dies,

at least not without coming back;

unexplainable life through a time-stream,

or I'm-better-than-Jesus resurrection dream.

 

And I was better, and definitely still am,

because I'd never abandon you,

or pretend I existed in a fake book,

with fake people, living a fake life,

floating on a boat that became symbolic,

of people's dreams;

forgotten after they led them somewhere else,

ungrateful, but thats the way humans are,

we don't care what brought us there,

after a trip, nobody thanks their car,

and maybe we should,

or at least the vehicle's engineers,

if not its inventors, who brought us the technology,

just don't take a look at the product's toxicology,

and the way it's destroying what really matters.

 

But we never look behind the curtain,

there's too much risk and work involved,

we only want you to bring us the riddle,

if it's a Sherlock-problem, sure to be solved,

and that's the way our dreams dissolved,

when there was nothing left to boggle us,

and keep us guessing and hoping,

because hope and guesswork died with the dreams,

or maybe it was vice versa.

 

Nothing is certain, and nothing is eternal,

humanity doesn't understand the permanent,

because our relationships aren't,

and neither are our lives,

bbut maybe our souls are,

or at least our presence,

and I'm not talking social media,

or even the famous, and encyclopedia Brittanica;

nothing lasts.

 

I would say it's better that way,

because it makes life feel more important,

that's a suggestion from Dorian Gray,

but an expiry date never made the milk taste better,

or the dream have longer legs to walk with.

 

Dreams still die,

a lonely, cruel death,

curled up, vomiting,

in a forgotten corner,

the party still rages on.

 

One down goes unnoticed,

in this unnatural selection,

when there are still fifty-two up,

and flipping like madmen,

giving out drinks,

and playing games involving thumbs,

which separate us from other animals,

but never from ourselves,

and thats the struggle of life.

 

The fine walk along the line of,

community and liberty,

falling apart around our ears,

the ones in the know reduced to tears,

or clouding the pain with smoke,

not accompanied by mirrors,

it's real life,

no illusions,

there's no David Blaine or Criss Angel,

and no saints or sinners,

all losers, with no winners,

and that's where life is,

the edge of heaven or hell,

purgatory,

and we'll all waiting,

but it's never long enough,

the Ticktockman's clock is ticking,

a little faster than we'd hoped,

because nobody's only working forty,

not in North America.

 

Time runs in fast shoes,

before the gun even goes off,

it's cheating us,

but we're cheating ourselves,

so who cares,

that's life,

what's the rush?

 

We'll all meet end up at the finish line,

one way or another,

no winners,

but new records.