We Are All Individuals (I'm Not)

I've been called a misogynist. Well that's only half true. You could equally say I'm a misandrist, which is also only half true. For the full picture, the word you're searching for is misanthrope. Yes indeed; a more curmudgeonly, crotchety, cranky character you'd journey long and hard to find.

But even that's not really true. I'm actually quite a nice bloke, honest. Yes, I do see humanity revealed through its failings. I do rail against the preposterous notion that anybody, anywhere has the faintest clue as to what it's all about. I rejoice in the downfall of the pompous, I'm quick to ridicule the mentally feeble and although I can't bear to watch it, I do understand the freak show draw of X-Factor.

Just because I despise humanity in general, it doesn't necessarily make me a bad person. Whilst I can't empathise with those who suffer from their own stupidity and delusion, I weep freely in the presence of selflessness, even when the object of that devotion is itself unworthy. My chest swells with absurd pride at acts of unthinking bravery, whether or not I espouse the cause. And I am just as susceptible as nearly 56-million other people to cute stuff like this. (If you don't like ickle kitties, don't click on the link.)

But I abhor the sheep-like devotion to trite, aphoristic notions such as everybody having a reason for being, or the idea that humans are anything other than opportunistic animal organisms, fighting each other for space, for food, for fortune. And I really don't 'get' the current adulation of the infant; to me, kids are just learning machines and how they turn out is entirely your fault. Philip Larkin was spot on, almost. He forgot to include the counter corollary that you, in turn, are fucked up by your kids.

And so the great human experiment stumbles on, blindly, from one mistake to the next. All seven billion of you 'individuals'. The only certainty, death, life itself is pretty pointless so the best you can do is stave off the boredom while you're waiting.

I understand your obsessions, your hopes and dreams without having to share them or respect them.  I understand it because I am just the same as you, every single one of you... only better. J So you can have your kids and your X-Factors, your flash cars and your daft ambitions. You can pretend you're all equal and equally gifted if that floats your boat and you can even meddle with the system we call society to try and make those wishes come true.

But don't coming crying to me when the true nature of the world creeps into your dreams and you wake up, screaming, into cold, hard, competitive reality.

Gosh. That's a bleak way to end, isn't it? Well, when I'm down in the dumps, when reality has hit a bit too hard, I find that looking at somebody worse off helps enormously.

We all love a good gurn, don't we?