I live in a world where Donald Trump is running for president and might win. A good portion of the country is going to vote for him against their own interest because he's singing that siren's song of oppression that makes them feel good inside. They're still broke and he's not going to change that, but there are some brown people underneath them--and that's all that really matters to them. He is running against a woman who labeled African American youth "Super Predators" in the 90's. She said: "...they must be brought to heel" in her speech, like they were dogs. Animals. Ultimately, these people are ants in the point that I attempting to make here, which is a shame, because they are a nightmare, or should be. But they're small, insignificant to the point. And the point is confidence, or, a lack thereof.
Confidence is a thing that comes from the self. While I believe it can be greatly affected by the workings of other people ala Jean Paul Sarte's line of reasoning, it is still an issue of self. A good example would be a rats in a maze (common saying, apt too). The Makers of the maze have all the keys and levers for trap doors that the rat has no idea about. The Makers of the maze have all the cheese. He/she can give the rat cheese or not. If the rat hits a brick wall or falls through the floor into a subterranean tunnel within the maze and has to take days, weeks, even years, to make his way back to the starting point, does the rat feel bad inside and lose confidence in his/her attempts to navigate and free him/herself from the maze? Probably. That's the set-up, right? The design of the maze. Ultimate control.
Coming to understand the maze is the impossible thing. And you should have seen my little rat brain working, attempting to understand why publishing company after publishing company failed no matter how much revenue that company was generating--all of it in an attempt to control the hungry rat population, desperate for the cheese...willing to do anything for some recognition and a toothy nibble of that delicious Swiss in the hopes of one day eating enough cheese to become a Maker One Day and having sadistic control of all the other rats. Biting one another over crumbs while their Maker/Breaker Overlords bet against them and pick winners and losers at whim.
Another publishing company has failed (name withheld 'cause they never did a damn thing to me), and, frankly, I am vaguely sad about it. This one was rather beautiful. I liked the way it began. That audacity and bravery that started it. The person that created it was a hero to me in a distant kind of way. They bucked the unjust, rape-like, system, much to the system's absolute rage and despair. They were a rat that became a Maker--one of the very few that actually made that happen. They had a beautiful thing going as far as rats and Makers go. The other foolish rats are taking pleasure in the death of this company in their Trump-supporting rat-like way. Tittering to themselves as the destruction of something beautiful--watching the world burn, so to speak. And I'm just watching what I can only consider to be a kind of rat-like-senseless-self-destructive-witch-burning mania. When there's no cheese, the rats turn mean and cannibalistic, you know. And the Makers laugh their asses off at the gladiator sport of it.
-Sigh- What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, confidence...
...or, a lack thereof...
I like to write.
I just discovered that I'm not a fucking rat.
And I'm confident in that.
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