Thursday, November 12, 2009

This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time.

You wake up at Seatac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O'Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI. Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time. You wake up at Air Harbor International. If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?

I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.

You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else.

Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned.

Ten years ago this week 'Fight Club' came out.
A movie (and a damn fine book) about our generations dissatisfaction with our lives. Our parents were the Baby Boomers. Born at end of WWII. They redefined self-indulgence. They were the youth in the 60's that were going to change the world, they were the greedy yuppies of the 80's that damn near destroyed it, and now they are in their 60/70s panicked by their own impending mortality and grasping at straws and government funds, and global resources. We are the Regan youth that were expected to follow in their footsteps, pay for their abuses and clean up their messes.
We have more in common with our grandparents (we're fighting the Boomer's wars in the middle east, working through the depression started by their greed, and we'll be paying for them at least for the rest of our lives.) Fight Club resonates with our generation. It is a rejection of the pseudo-rebellion of the 60's, of the consumer culture of the 80's and 90's and a refusal to repair society. It is a bubble of the simmering anger and disdain we feel. It actually resonates more 10 years later.

I've been training a lot. Numbers don't really matter, I've been doing more of the same.
I get back on the 5/3/1 bus at the end of next week. More training details then.


No comments: