Sometimes I get a panick attack.
I get as scared as a heavily armed Israeli soldier who sees a six year old boy walking towards him, defiantly licking a red (provocation!!) lolly-pop.
And I think about money. That rough, wrinkled paper I need in order to survive. Also to compare myself to others, especially my peers. Because I’m a child of my time, I have no other countable way to measure my worth as a human being.
Ok, I could count the likes I get on social media, but then I’d have to hang myself right away, or go yell ‘free palestine’ at a border fence in Israhell, so my death would at least mean a little something. The death of a white person from the west is worth a million dead Palestinians. Better a martyr than a total nobody, right? Nobody is reading this, so I’m asking myself this question. In this social system that disconnects, as we chase money and status, you get good at talking to yourself, or yelling at your dog. Only reason some people have dogs: to have a living something they can yell at and knock around a bit.
And sometimes I get as horny as a young long-legged Ukranian woman who sees a lot of cash in the sweaty palms of an old, short, fat, bold petroleum oligarch.
And then I feel as caged as the population in the open air prison Gaza. Because, you know, you can’t just hump anyone you fancy. And am not a rapist, so it’s crucial they consent or I have nothing from it at all, just anguish, and I’m really an altruist. I mean, I like doing stuff that makes people happy. But because I feel enough pressure, even heavy enough to flatten Trump’s ego, to make money, I find it harder and harder to allow myself to be altruistic. I mean I like making people happy, but I also like to eat. Perhaps I’m still selfish, because I know what a disaster the meat industry is and I still eat eggs and chicken, and sometimes I can block the image of a cow out of my head long enough to finish a steak. If I put enough pepper on it, so I forget am eating meat. Something that suffered horribly before landing on my plate, something that knew something was waaaay off when they drove her from that truck with electric bolts.
And then sometimes I wish I could be a giant and scoop up Israel and relocate it to, say, Alaska. There’s still room there. Israel is an American state anyway. If America is a male body, then Israel is one of its missing testicles. A very sensitive area and it reguarly needs to shoot its load.
Often I feel I am absolutely clueless as to how I could possibly end up in Slovakia. It really sounds like a place where they produce kalashnikovs and maybe have the strongest grandmothers in the world who can survive on things they forage in the woods.
Or I think of all the friends that came and went, and if our friendship was fake from the start, and if new friends will also one day just ghost you, or forget about you, just like you forgot about some people.
And then there’s worries about the exploitation system we call the economy. Lots of people making just enough money to stay just over broke to make the 0,1 percent fat cats at the top even fatter.
Painful is the way in which some of those obedient workers deny that the system is rat race they can’t win.
They think they have already won, because they have the great privilege of going to work five days a week to do something they don’t particularly enjoy, just so they can get the Three Big Happy Makers, a car, a house and a two week holiday to escape from the house, the car and the job that pays for the house, the car, and the holiday.
Luckily people don’t need to care about other people dying 1,000 miles away, because they can watch sports, fade away with alcohol, smoke, indulge in food, go for walks in nature. Very important, I keep meeting people who claim they like to do nothing better than walking around in nature. WHY DID WE STOP BEING HUNTER GATHERERS? People want to walk around in nature! We could have kept it so simple! But no, we needed a stock market, and cups with a picture a raindeer on, and scented candles to stink up your cave, and plastic wrapping, and Amazon, so we can make some poor schmuck fetch some cheap stuff for us in a giant wharehouse, where he makes so little money, the government needs to give him food stamps. But his boss, his boss is who we all have to aspire to be. And we CAN be him. If we would just work harder, read the right self-help books, listen to the right coaches and motivational speakers.
And somehow I wake up, and am hungry for more all the time, and internet tells me it’s sooo possible to have everything. If you just also do everything, except sleeping. No time for that. I’m often sleep-derived. Because my days are so boring, I am like afraid to let go of a day and go to bed. Like every night I’m waiting around for something exciting to happen. This day can’t end this way!!! But the older I get the less and less stuff I find even remotely exciting. Except for soaking up knowledge about politcs, history, psychology, economics. Most of it is useless, in the end I often feel like am just this geek that studies the past far more than he’s actually alive in the present.
But this nagging, burning pain all the time, no matter what. This merciless desire to be something more, something better, to be worth more.
Hunger, longing, desire, ambition that one day will reach its peak, colan cancer. And I will wobble about, smoking pot to dull the pain, thinking of all I said and did in a hungry life time, that nobody really cared about or saw the point of.
And I’ll ask: what was it good for? Why wasn’t I spared this chalice that is human life? Why wasn’t there a clearer blueprint delivered with the package? Is this the point? Is this what I had to become?
It’s like looking in the mirror has become the same as looking at that table from IKEA you put together yourself. Ok, it’s functional, but you know it’s not like the model in the store. You overlooked something, you just don’t know what.