I am Jack's raging spleen.It's not really a new feeling but it's become more...defined (?) since I read his Set This House in Order: A Romance of Souls. And it's not because he glorified things, or whitewashed the severe downside of the affliction. Quite the opposite, really.
I really want to knock the fucking daylights out of people and blow shit up.There's something to be said for having an outlet for the frenzied, manic portion of your brain to stretch its legs every now and then. Or the creative portion to breathe freely, unfettered by the constraints of the "real world." Without the excuse of being drunk.
Why is philosophy a fucking luxury? Why can anybody make a decent living being a fucking corporate drone but not by doing something good for society? Why does anyone believe things will get better if we're not doing anything to change the status quo?Our society is so tightly wound that it's a wonder more people don't snap.
Keep your fucking right to vote. Give me guns and people willing to die for something.There's no balance to our lives anymore. It's all workworkwork, treading water, and the rare moments of play are so compressed, we often go to extremes to squeeze as much out of them as possible. Which is exhausting, making workworkwork even more tedious and treading water even more offensive. Which makes play even more extreme, if we're not too tired already and just skip it. Which is a vicious circle that usually ends in burnout.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.I'm sick of the illusion.
I'm going to break the wizard's fucking neck.Tired of playing the game.
Don't hate the game. Hate the players that perpetuate the game.Fed up with complacency.
Ain't got shit to be complacent about.No longer satisfied by excuses.