Thursday, February 12, 2009

Pseudo-Intellectualism: Letting Go

I used to think, in my youth, that I have a responsibility to maintain balance in the universe.

My megalomania, and a heightened sense of self-importance led me to believe that it was up to me to ensure that the world doesn't tip. Keel over and die. It was my responsibility to ensure that people don't get hurt.

This, friends, Romani, cunt-rymen, is the result of reading too much comic books.

I found that I was not alone in this.

One woman told me that she needs to constantly be right, or people die. Well, not really. People may lose money. Cause she's a business journalist.

DOCTORS need to be right, or people die. Police officers, the military, bla bla bla.

And even then, I discovered, that they can only do their best effort, up to what they can mortally do. And then hope for the best.

I spent some time with some doctors and found out that modern medicine is also very much about guesswork as it is a science. Most of the medication they prescribe to you are harmful.

I was misdiagnosed once. The doctor told me I had otitis media - infection of the middle ear.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Oh, you might go deaf." Came the flippant reply.

And then he went out to have his tea, leaving me worried that I would never be assaulted with ABBA ever again. NOTE: One more of you fuckers play one more ABBA song, and I'm gonna fucking kill you!

So I went to the 'Net and did some research on the eardrops he gave me. Apparently, the thing can potentially cause seizures. Funny, eardrops causing seizures.

More worried than ever, I went to a specialist at Pantai and had my ears checked again. The result? No, I did not have otitis media. And my hearing has the normal range except for some low sounds. Meaning if somebody has a very low tone in their voice, I need to start reading lips. Which I did. Through practice, I can now read lips. Not as well as a deaf person, but enough to get by, if I meet a bass or even a very low baritone.

So anyway, best effort. There's a Latin term for it. Or whatever.

As I am mentally 8 years old, it took a while for me to realise that I actually do not matter. With that, comes freedom. If I DO matter, I have to watch what I do. If I am insignificant, inconsequential, I can do or say whatever the bloody hell I want.

It wouldn't matter if I'm wrong. I used to care. About being right and not being wrong. Then I realised the stupidity of it all.

See, there is no truth. Truth is basically perception. Viewpoints. Opinions. Mere fact cannot stand in the way of belief. Of faith.

Makcik Senah ate a Big Mac. FACT.

Makcik Senah is cool. Viewpoint. Truth?

Makcik Senah is a fat-assed pig. Opinion. Truth?

Makcik Senah is killing Palestinians for buying from McDonalds'. Perception. Truth?

Makcik Senah is an apostate because Big Mac has arcane letterings that denounce religion. Faith. Truth?

That is why I am very suspicious when people take the moral high ground. Because there are no morals.

Some 2000 years ago, marrying an 8-year-old was acceptable and in some cases, commendable. Try do that now.

Having slaves was okay at one point, and the genteel rode on the backs of servants and peons and peasants. A samurai can fuck your daughter, if you're a farmer. Today, these things still exist, but done quietly. Oooh. They get PAID. Like, RM300 per month. Or per fuck. Money can get us a boost in class and status. And sometimes buy our way out of unwanted situations.

The world was and is created by opinions and viewpoints and perceptions and hope. Value, as Neil Gaiman puts it, is in the mind of the buyer. And thus the value of all things, and values, are ephemereal. Subject to the whims and fancies of human opinion.

There is a stock market for morality as much as there is a commodities index for oil, wheat, rice, coffee, pork and beef.

Ah, I fear that I have managed to sidetrack myself from the topic.

Anyway, yes, I am not the crux at which the world balances itself. I cannot, and should not, stop some people from pursuing acting careers. I must let some people discover for themselves the ugliness beneath sweet words and gestures of infinitely evil and manipulative people. Unless it affects my own world. If that happens, then to arms! To arms!

Some people around me are dying. Yes, yes. Sylvia Plath - everyone's dying. Bla bla bla. But really, physically dying. And I cannot stop it. So I must learn to accept it. And let go.

Because the alternative, is war. War and madness.