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Zen and the Art of Abrasive Arrogance
A blog about the struggles of the search for enlightenment and teenage angst
(and what happens when the two are combined)
Do you know the type of pretentious pseudo-artist struck with an ungodly
sense of megalomania? They’re the ones at the tables in the Starbucks
section of Barnes and Noble gawking at you when they spot Harry Potter
in your hand, while giving the hyper-friendly head nod to the man next
you who just picked up a Vonnegut novel. They live in their own class
of world filled only with their own class of people, the only class who
mean anything at all; the artist class. Art “transcends humanity”
you’ll hear them say, ignoring the fact that it takes humanity to
comprehend and give art value in the first place. The worst ones by far
are the teenagers. The girls crowd our malls, neon green beads in their
hair with frilly long skirts, cackling and laughing uproariously at
simple minded inside jokes, while the boys (scarce as they are) sit in
the corner of their rooms at night contemplating what it means to truly
love and be truly gay.
I'm sure you've dealt with them. Know who
I’m talking about? I do. I live in a town with them. In fact, I went to
school with them before I ragequit and dropped out (to anyone from my
old school who happens to be reading this, I love you all but that
doesn’t change the fact that half of you can’t write worth a crap).
And yet, I just tricked you.
Without you knowing it I happened to just summarize my entire blog. Yes; I
stand before you here friends, from the sanctity and safety of cyberspace
to tell you that I am yet another underachieving
dreamer with the nonsensical goal of killing boredom in the name of
pure art…Kind of.
Of course I openly admit it; I’m very arrogant.
I like to think of myself as a great writer with great capabilities and
talents. I sit alone at night, staring at the plastic stars on my
ceiling, imagining a scene from the day of my very first book signing
appearances. The gorgeous young beauty in front of me with hope filled
in her eyes, nervous fingers twitching while I take the book from her
hands, heart melting as I slip her my signature corner-of-the-mouth
smirk…. “Is it true that you’re a black belt in Kung Fu?!” She says out
of excitement. My smirk turns to a grin, belying amusement, “Yes,” I
say astutely.
“And you were also a fighter pilot?? And served in the Peace Corps?? And made millions on your own as a freelance stockbroker?”
“All true.” By now I would be glowing a radiance reserved only for religious messiahs.
If by now you haven’t X’d out of the window, you’re probably amazingly bored.
But still, I can at least admit that I have an ego. You do too, in fact -
you just probably don’t want to admit it. Everyone these days is
magnifying their problems far more than they’re really worth. When
something drastic occurs to you, with the knife pinpointed straight at
your heart slowly digging in through your ribcage, with your breath
short and hard and your body shaking… It feels like your world is
crumbling. But reality remains unchanged.
Picture if you will, a man, emotionally broken as he runs outside his home and screams to the
sky “Why me? What I have done to deserve this unending hatred?” It’s as
if he expects the world to stop rotating and listen. At that moment in
time it’s almost as though he wants the stars to stop burning, the
quasars to stop spinning, the black holes to stop moving, the nebulas
to stop breathing life, and all turn to him and say… “Sorry, what was
that? Must’ve missed what you said.”
This is the part where you peg me as a delusional nihilist and stop reading. But really, I
don’t think that what I’m saying is nihilism at all. I’d just like to
point out how every man has become a universe by himself.
I mean, think about it. Why is being unique so important to you? Nearly
everyone on this planet has unrealized desires to be recognized and be
unique, but what is just SO important about it? In nature, the unique
animals are usually the first to go. Albino penguins stick out like
sore thumbs when pressed against the deafening black of the rest of
their pack. It poses zero advantages to us. We can lead a happy,
fulfilling life without being singled out or designated with any form
of recognition of whatsoever; and yet, why is being unique SO important
then?
It's absolutely important to me. The next thing that runs
in my mind after my daydreaming scenario has to be “why?" Just why do I
want so badly to be a famous author who people can idolize? Is it
classical conditioning from the way society’s culture shaped my
childhood's feeble little mind? Is it my subconscious desire to get
revenge on all those who mocked me? Or is it something deeper,
something hidden, that has thus far eluded my grasp?
But I think if you analyze it too much then you lose sight of what really matters.
If you’re always wandering, you can never find what you’re looking for.
I just thought it’d be nice to be able to note that thought, anyway.
I suppose this would be the part where I tell you to read on. Where I
tell you all about how different and revolutionizing my blog is. But
really, I won’t even bother - I’m only writing this for the hell of it.
If someone totally random reads it, cool, if not, I still managed to
get some ideas down. Fact of the matter is you could probably find
another five thousand blogs just like it.
As I write, I will question ideals, politics, and religion…every once in awhile. Honestly
I’ll probably get bored and start writing about stupid crap, though.
Subject: Mind Blowing 
Wed Aug 18, 2010 4:53 pm
