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Boy it’s hard to find, and stay, in a groove.
Almost two months since my last post.
Getting COVID a second time about one month ago has been a part of it, with mental fog this time.
It’s amazing how hard it is to stay positive. To wake up, to not see value in “the World beyond” at that moment, to think about getting up and having the strengthening voice in my head say “not a fucking chance,” to think about that most tragic artistic videogame scene in “What Remains of Edith Finch” in the fish factory, and to not be frightened of aging and feel myself sliding toward “Skid Row” or the portrayal of the aging retired grandfather patriarch in Jonathan Franzen’s great American novel “The Corrections.”
I saw a meme the other day, in my five-days-a-week, weekday list of 50 best pictures on the lnternet today list. Most are memes. Some are famous people wearing expensive watch fetish pics. Some are exotic homes in Nature fetish pics. Some are whiskey and cigars fetish pics. Some are hamburger fetish pics. And some are hot women holding fish they just caught pics.
Very much not like the fish in “What Remains of Edith Finch.” Much more like the fantasy of those infamously prolific dudes on dating sites who post pics of themselves shirtless holding dead fish. Which, by the way, all real and hot women love. #sarcasm
But the bulk are memes. Anyway, one was more of a Twitter tweet as meme pic. It was a guy saying “Don’t give up on your dreams. Stay in bed and sleep more.” Or something like that. I’m paraphrasing.
Yes I know I’m falling into the trap again. Analyzing old bad patterns, instead of focusing on creating good new ones. Ruminating instead of pondering. Letting myself be dragged around by the tail of a bull instead of taking it by the horns. Reality is bullish on… something. Chaos? Challenge?
Anyway.
Just had to vent a bit. I’ll try to stop. Venting is one of the means to an end, not the end itself. Unless, I guess, you let it end you. Which it can.
What have I been thinking about on bigger topics recently? Moving to Indonesia. Bali. Hanan. Not being terrified of what uninspiring work does to me and causes me to do to others who get close. And politics of course. I think the Ukraine War, started by a dying and delusional authoritarian Russia, has been a big part of it. It’s surely made the board game “Twilight Struggle” seem more relevant, which is an epic recreation of the Cold War. I don’t think I’d started playing online with a human, or in person with a human, the last time I’d written here.
And, over and over and over… George Orwell and “1984.”
Endlessly.
I just cannot stop listening to the news, watching what’s happening to the Trump and Trumpism dominated Republican party, without pulling my hair out (figuratively) about two things: how terrifyingly relevant everything in “1984” is, and why the bloody fuck the news and podcasts and more that I consume don’t constantly reference the connections. The book. The ideas. It’s like an epic bible for everything. An instruction manual either being consciously used by bad actors, or accidentally being discovered on a separate path by greedy, corrupt grifters who don’t know how to stand on the shoulders of “giants.”
Most recently?
I think it was the reference to Kevin McCarthy and the “discovery” of his recorded conversation with Liz Cheney and others, I think, just after the January 6th insurrection. Should I capitalize “insurrection” there does the whole improper thing have a proper name status? I dunno. But anyway there’s been the ordeal of watching how McCarthy’s soul got devoured in little bites after that, like James Comey warned, and, worse, to how the only thing Trump loves more than someone who worships him on hands and knees forever is… a person who used to hate him who he “broke,” and who now worships him on hands and knees.
So I find myself thinking about Winston and his boss O’Brien in the Ministry of Truth. How, once it’s discovered that Winston is a traitor to the Party and to Big Brother, O’Brien makes it crystal clear that the goal is not just to kill him.
Nor is it to torture him, to wring out a false confession in front of an audience, or even to get genuine obedience that deep deep down is still hatred of the Party and Big Brother. No. The true goal, as with every traitor, is to save them. To break them so completely, to rebuild them so completely with ahistorical doublethink that they TRULY love the Party and Big Brother. Only a betrayal of one’s deepest self can do that. Winston betraying Julia is that thing, for Winston. Crush someone’s soul so deeply it has nothing left but to love the Party and Big Brother that… spared it from the Rats.
It made me think of what I’ve learned about pure narcissism. About how for the pure narcissist other human beings are not individual people with value but really just extensions of the narcissist himself or herself. Like hands or feet. I’ve talked about this before, but the new wrinkle is my thinking about how Trump most loves those who he broke and who came back to him with at least superficial love. I don’t think it’s the full love the Party in “1984” manages, but it’s enough for Trump. Fear and obedience and loyalty and praise and whatever passes for “love” in the black heart of someone who doesn’t know what it is.
So I was imagining the hands and feet idea. And also remembering my experiences with “breaking” enemy nations and making them loyal to me in that videogame “Civilization Revolution.” If someone breaks their hand, or it goes numb, or is badly injured, the appreciation of it healing, of it “returning to the fold,” makes it seem even more precious. I’ve broken each wrist, once. And getting my hands back after the cast came off was a joy. My hands, however, do belong to me. So that’s not narcissism.
But in that videogame? “Civilization Revolution”? Now that I think about it in these terms, I can honestly say that the cities I conquer, in that realm where narcissism can get safe reign, are more precious. The cities I create with my own settlers? Even the cities I name created from stolen settlers? They mean more. Their obedience feels more wondrous.
So I can understand. I see where Trump’s not-a-videogame awful extension of that comes in. Not because I feel real kinship. But hopefully, in an ideal World where I can get out of bed and be driven to a great cause every day, understanding one’s enemy is essential to defeating one’s enemy.
Which leads to the topic of my amiable, friendly, Trumpian neighbor. He voiced the familiar red flags I was taught by the Fake News Media to look for. But he loves me. I’m white. I’m a friend.
The bad stuff?
A topic for another blog post.
P.S. – The title for this blog is a paraphrasing of a line from the novel version of “Deliverance.” The lead character who’s fine being mainstream, but who is pushed from that groove by the adventure craving archer friend played by Burt Reynolds in the film. And yes I fantasize about evil hillbillies making Trump squeal like a pig. As if you had to ask.