I’m going to try to keep this one brief.
Because it involves someone I know who committed suicide.
I’m not going to get fancy.
Because you aren’t worth it.
She was someone who only wanted to live a normal American life.
She wanted still to have a connection with her family.
I didn’t know her personally, but I could tell, she was always searching for a decent substitute.
And in her unusual urban life, she tried to a lot of worthwhile things.
Eventually, the pain and the rage and the sorrow and love all came to fruition, she jumped off of the roof.
And her parents, well, they said they’d never recover. And I could hardly blame them for that.
But then, when the articles were posted online, someone in the comments had the audacity to say, so very adamantly, and joyfully,
that the type of lifestyle, the type of community, which would encourage a young woman to not be able to see her baby photos,
did indeed raise many good people. And this person said that with such a tone, it was such a very proud one.
I couldn’t stand anyone from anywhere saying such a thing with that kind of zeal.
But I could tell this fellow knew exactly how much rage people might feel when hearing that voice.
I genuinely believe that “mischievous maturity” is the best thing to call it. But I’ve already explained what that is in an earlier post.
But I feel like making a judgment.
If someone kills themselves, due to being disowned, simply for desiring not the type of BONDAGE that most people would be sent to JAIL for 30 years for causing,
and someone CRITICIZES that community, hoping for it to change,
and the first impulse of yours
is to DEFEND them,
are not scum, no, you’re not.
You aren’t the worst kind of person there is.
You aren’t lacking in any common decency.
You shouldn’t let yourself be loathed.
THAN A CLOWN.
Why? It’s simple, really.
Because a clown turns themselves into comedy.
And my theory of comedy is twofold.
The first is that humor is what we feel
when dignity suddenly glides against being only kind of real.
It’s a relief against trying to be dignified, without invalidating dignity itself.
The other is that comedy is when
something is perfectly inappropriate, or inappropriately perfect.
We laugh because something is exquisitely apt, while also being ridiculously out of place.
Clowns, like humor itself, are an affectionate mockery of trying to be a dignified person.
And this is how they earn their bread, with oh so many pies to the face.
You who defends the type of thing that is oh so very likely to make a free spirited young American want very much to die,
you are not like a clown in the traditional sense, the “acting silly” sense, the “everything is ridiculous” sense, the “I don’t care what happens to me” sense”.
No, you’re like a clown, because
you smile all the way through doing something you know is heavily flawed.
You think the flaws of your lifestyle, the fallout of your communities’ inwardly placed wrath, the modest zeal of dressing up like it isn’t a world with t-shirts and jeans,
like that’s all beautifully, intricately, wonderfully, worth the price of a truly elegant and proper lifestyle.
And you wouldn’t be wrong about that. You’re not a bunch of idiots, no sir.
But clowns, those incredible performers, they want to make people smile.
Clowns want to earn a living massaging our obsession with being a well-composed human being. Clowns want to provide us relief from the pains of being human. Sometimes they can even make us cry, and in a bizarre way, make us feel gloom and sorrow that cleanses that of our very selves.
And yet, unfortunately, we seem to mock clowns for trying to do that. We often portray them as genuinely not giving a shit about anything, as totally out of touch with how to make meaningful commentary on humanity, and sometimes as absolutely malicious creatures who want to kill us gradually by the hundreds.
That stereotype of sheer amused serenity in colorful murder,
no matter how civil you might be,
that resembles you more than your local circus performer.
You, the person who has the gall to say,
“we’re so GOOD to each other”,
you are the real Joker.
It can be hard to see who’s on the right side of history sometimes,
but it certainly isn’t anyone who lives the way you do.
Or do you not care about history even a little bit?
It’s obvious, so obvious, that freedom, basic modern “go outside and try to carve your own way” freedom
cannot always be great for every individual that happens to be born. You could even blame THAT as the culprit for that suicide.
You could blame the foundation of a modern nation’s essence as what killed her. That imperfect urge for some kind of freedom. You’re allowed to despise it, to see yourselves as far above it.
You are also allowed to say she was simply mentally ill. That she was the type of person bound for self-destruction no matter what was happening in her life, in spite of her apparent utter lack of malice.
But at the very least, if you’re going to go online and start boasting in the face a suicide of your very brethren, then at the very least….
I want you to hear me out, and anyone who who really feels above letting their families live like it’s CURRENT YEAR.
The sheer depth of your desire is real.
The overwhelming energy inside your pride is real.
The validity of your passion to defend your way of living, your ideals and dreams, that isn’t bogus, you’re not a creep, you’re not.
But you think you’re worth congratulating for your audacity, and I do not.
And my argument doesn’t come from an intellectually vapid place.
It doesn’t come from rage at what I perceive happens in a whichever highly extended clan.
It doesn’t come from merely loving the American ideal of not forcing a young woman to suck up to sickening demands of the sexual and motherhood variety
just to remain part of her immediate family,
and generally not being grossed out by the dream of freedom.
All of this doesn’t come from simple frustration about what I see in the news.
What this comes from is my own personal growth. From my own journey and where it got me.
I know, that’s a bit cliche, but hear me out, citizen of internet.
I was a person who had an idea in my head about how loving I was, how I sophisticated I was, how kind I was, how balanced I was, how cool I was, how I nice I was, and fell very short of my own personal image, quite severely. I put all my depth in figuring out how to be, far more than I ever even owned, and it still wasn’t enough to establish my redemption.
I found NOTHING in this world that could articulate my intricate awfulness. I was not any stereotype of inconsiderate or selfish, not at all. I fit labels that didn’t exist- that is why I’ve come up with all of this.
I was a certain type of complexly undignified creature, like humanity itself.
But eventually, I was able to grow enough,so that I could bring comfort to and get comfort from the highly evolved.
I was not as great as I thought I was.
But eventually, I was able to become the opposite of a disgrace
to anyone who could help see what greatness I did have, and great I was.
I filtered something despicable from myself, something which I might have kept without getting fairly lucky and from having lofty dreams of BEING NICE to people.
And in my humble opinion, in my metaphysical stance,
especially after going back and reading what she posted,
especially after seeing how well she hid her pains,
just from what I see as a human who only met her a few times,
that this woman was not a stain upon this world,
even as she became a mess upon the sidewalk.
I think she had the sweetness that this world really needs more of.
I think you’re as close to legally allowed atrocities.
It has its place in another time before us.
We as a nation are trying to find out what freedom should actually be. People all over the world dream about us finding the right way to be free.
But you don’t even respect that. You really don’t admire that.
Even as the internet lets you say what you want. Talk to whom you want. See what you want, love what you want. The internet is beautifully imperfect freedom, an incredible step forward, one too huge to not try and weave more decency from.
Everyone’s trying to lean toward the future in some way, hoping for us to evolve, and you’re just sitting there, ready to shun any neighbor coming close to defying your expectations, far, far into the dirt.
Profound and deep adherence to what the people before you told you should be, yes, that is something this world needs. But at that extreme, this world couldn’t even operate.
There wouldn’t be technology, there wouldn’t be modern medicine, there wouldn’t be the media, there wouldn’t be an internet for you to post on.
But that’s what makes you smile, isn’t it?
That moment when you feel a little bit like a clown.
The ultimate pie upon one’s face.
“Who cares if I would never allow the internet to exist, I’m still gonna use it to shun it.”
Being completely and neatly imperfect in your ways of being nice.
That, my friend, is not high dignity. That is mischievous maturity.
And it’s the strongest emotion there is. It’s the emotion we never gave a name.
It’s the emotion upon which wars are waged.
You’re undulating right now.
Your energies are rising and falling, etching upon your body into solid form.
You can feel that everything is connected, and everything is not connected,
depending on what’s so, depending on what happens to happen.
You feel that one thing is everything, and that one thing is the least of things. And as you think and feel you carve the grooves of you into much time and space, as you elegantly waver the weight.
Whether or not you agree with me, what you have is undulance.
I am giving names to that emotion you feel right now if you are mad at me for insisting clowns are not beneath you, that they are actually above you. Or vexxed at me for putting this much effort into trying to do good by the despair of someone who was simply an acquaintance. There is a way to dissect that irritating wistful wish to make some justice.
This girl was quite spectacular, and she deserved far better.
If you see her objections to you as a joke,
that does nothing to her dignity.
There was so much pain behind her smile.
And so much joy in yours that’s practically begging to wear off.
It’s my dream that by changing the way those who desire some kind of modernity treat each other,
that anyone as far in the past as you might just change naturally,
due to no one giving you validation anymore for this serene brutality on one’s family.
No one will smile at the acts you take you think are oh so badass.
If I have endeared you, provoked you, engaged you, or inflamed you, please read my 10-piece manifesto.
If you are to excuse disgracefulness, then know your plasmatic energy.
It’s all for the dream of “don’t fuck with people” to become reality.
I really hope I’ve done my best.