the hazards of love

All I really know anymore is bad news, is hope upon hope just so simply crushed. I can have one little thing in the day that gives me a grin and sure enough, it's taken away just as quickly as it leaves my face. Now, I used to get all higher-power on myself and I was convinced that someone was out to get me. That my spiritual impact was too much to be ignored and I had to be shut down. As much as it made me feel powerless to stop these things from happening, it also challenged me because, if Jeff Allen is anything, it's a fucking God.

I have to say that these past couple of months, ever since I returned from that trip, things have been strange. It's nearly uncanny really, the amount of dramatic events that can happen to a guy who really has absolutely nothing to do all day. That no matter how record-setting boring I can be, human and social drama continues to envelop me.

I could get into specifics, but really, that would just cause more of that drama to unfold. Of course, it will eventually, but even at this point where this soap opera bullshit is all I have in my life, I'd really like to deal with it in the most mature way possible.

I'm not saying that I really believe there is a God, much less one that's out to get me, but I can't help but think I'm being tested, maybe. All I know is that it has a lot to do with the small amount of plans I've made for the future and my swollen hope that is unfortunately completely dependent upon other people. And really, even those third parties who are privy to the sitcom roller coaster of my unemployed everyday can't help but admit that even objectively, it sure looks like I've been eating shit sandwiches for a few months now.

And right now, things are happening peripherally that really inhibit me from being as selfish and whiny as one might be. This is more of an observation rather than a complaint; as terrible as things may be, I still know this cannot be forever. I will get out of this, probably sooner than later, but I still don't think I'm at the end of this run either. Whatever is happening is making sure to sap every silly ounce of hope from me, and it's nearly complete. Maybe not a higher power or any personal vendetta, but this is all going to be looked back upon as a large, singular event in my life. And there has been no climax yet, and I'm not sure which way it's going to go.

I would obviously prefer the cinematic, optimistic ending. Where the spirit of humanity in this civilization is almost beat, almost totally removed, except for that one remaining shred of hope. That the soul is tested, tried, battered and torn, yet it still remains only full of spirit. So I am rewarded and happy and smiling and I see this as a dark time that consumed the sun, but I prevailed; crawling from the ashes and into the light. That would be really nice, some sort of happy ending.

On the other hand, we have reality. Where it has been proven to me that these things are not possible. That my dreams, my hypotheses, my plans and plots, are not to be. Nothing I have envisioned in these past months has even come close to being realized. Yet I still have this hope. I'm holding out for one more school, holding out on the letter, holding out on these pathetic jobs that I apply for every fucking day. I still can't learn my lesson. And if life does anything, it's fucking teach painful, terrible lessons. There will be an ending to this. And I don't think it's one any sane person should look forward to.

My friend is writing a book about a world where machines perform our menial labor. That the working class and most everything else is completely operated by loyal machines. Humans exist only to express their creativity, to be artists, musicians, poets. This woman cannot succeed in this. She submits her work over and over and over again, but is constantly rejected. Eventually, the government steps in and removes her soul to put into one of these machines. It's all very Asimov and unique and just so... applicable.

What if she had a choice? Her dreams and her aspirations and all her creativity is just not working. She tries and tries and fails and fails. Ultimately it becomes apparent that she is functionally unable to realize her dream. She is only failure. It has to happen. There have to be people out there who just can't do what their entire life is meant to do. It's right there that I understand those motivations. If I can't be what I want to be, if I can't do what I want to do, if I am 100% positive that my future will not be what I want, what the hell choice is there?

There's irony in all this, of course. With every depressing aspect of reality, there is that underlying irony. Mine is that I keep telling myself over and over and over again, that maybe soon, this will all be behind me. It will all be over.

Hopefully.