Friday, May 22, 2009

Modern Day Misanthrope

I do not wish for this paper to end up another teenage angst filled rant against my fellow man. I do not wish to whine and complain about them as they whine and complain about the trivialities of their banal existences. I never make any attempts to pretend I'm not one of them and my efforts to become anything but human have become increasingly frustrating. The burning desire to somehow rid Earth of these "walking viruses with shoes" has stirred many a great man past frustration and into philosophical revelation. The twisted, tortured mind of the misanthrope wishes not to directly end the human race, but to simply avoid them until the end of time.

I've developed into quite the self-loathing misanthrope. I still feel human, far too human to be healthy. I do not wish to be associated with this species; a species that rapes, murders, molests, bombs, slaughters and burns every fleeting glimmer of hope and goodness in this world. The only people I ever seem interested in being around are fellow misanthropes, and they are not be confused with psychopaths. I don't think anyone understands the ability to hate the human race as a whole while still having friends and lovers aplenty more than Charles Bukowski. In a discussion on society and humans he stated, "I'm not interested in solving the ills of society. I don't want to save the world, I don't even want to save me," so plainly he could have been reading the weather forecast. I guess I'll never truly fit the definition of the misanthrope because of my friendships, relationships, or even acquaintances. I don't hate the select few humans I've chosen to live within my circle; in fact I love most of them.

The vile hatred for my fellow man wasn't acquired overnight; it took nearly two decades of constant bombardment of idiocy, bigotry, violence, and willful ignorance to get me to this level of disgust. I've spent my whole life surrounded by people who serve no actual purpose; they just breed and forget their duty to common courtesy. "Hell is other people" as Sartre once put it. Nothing is more awful than having to spend hours upon hours with people who are so ignorant of their own disgusting acts. I've become bitter and jaded far beyond my years, I never meant for it to happen I tried to ignore the gut feeling that these people were dreadful and horrid, but you can only ignore something like that for so long.

Schopenhauer suggests aesthetic enjoyment as the only escape from the suffering of the world, turning to art is the only way to deal with the horrendous existence we're all a part of. Schopenhauer describes my own personal struggle to cope with the world around me. I shoot self portraits more often than anything else. These pieces serve two purposes: to express who I am in that moment or to express how completely frustrated I feel. In "Do You Believe in Anything?" I lay curled into the fetal position, face down, naked save for a sheet draped around my lower half, on a bare mattress while the world comes crashing down around me. Living in a place filled with a constant reminder of what you loathe can be suffocating; art is the only real release. The photos are the only way I can ever handle any situation or person thrown into my life. The cathartic release music offers also falls under Schopenhauer's advice. The violent breakdown in the end of "The Great Destroyer" embodies the frantic rage that rises inside of me when I read another news story about a man throwing his child out of a moving car, a mother drowning her children in the bathtub, a family of four shot and killed over the drug debts of the father, or how the great nation and beacon of light has been lying about its policies on torture. The drums beating to some unknown rhythm while the synthesizers squeal out some terrifying noise. The entire breakdown fades away into a hearbeat-esque throbbing sound that slows and dies away. Being human is horrible and inevitable; we might as well make art out of it. The world is full of such horrible things that only way to not be a misanthrope is to be a blind optimist.

I suppose most of my distaste for humans stems from their inability to overpower their savage urges in order to function with intellect and reason. Joe R. Lansdale illustrates this incapacity, " The primitive brain is still primitive, and it compels, pulses to the same dark beat that made our less civilized ancestors and the primordial ooze before them throb to simple savage rhythms of sex, death and destruction." I am horrified by the level of devolution that plagues our society today, as if not raping children is the most difficult thing we could ask of another human. People should be tolerant, respectful, peaceful, understanding, passionate, caring and just good. However, their ids seem to build this impenetrable wall of sex, violence, power and hatred. These savage behaviors should be exterminated along with their proliferators.

I don't want to save the human race, I want watch their extinction. I'm not suggesting that I want to be the one to finish what Hitler started. I don't want to be the one to end the human race; I don't want to touch them. I don't want to sink to their level. I don't want anything to do with anyone. I can't be the one in change of extinction. I think we should all just come to an agreement to stop breeding. There isn't anything violent about not forcing eight pounds of squishy, bone and flesh out of a tiny hole, I'm more like any of you than I ever wished to be, and that disgusts me more than I have time to articulate to you. I'm a horrible person, but so are all of you. I am the passive aggressive, teen angst filled, walking contradiction of a modern day misanthrope and I thrive in my disgust, distaste and hatred.

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