I’ve been thinking about the messy plaything that is altered consciousness,a thoughtful term for getting fucked, and I’ve come up with the conclusion that we are a strange lot. Nietzsche makes the recurring point that we lose our vital bearing when we stop responding to our instincts. The will to power, the drive to conquer and similar sounding shit. It’s true that it gets me going whenever I see a person exert strength, that’s what lies at the heart of the rampant hedonism we stand in line for. It’s a push to conquer our greatest collective challenge, this boredom. The instincts we’ve inherited all revolve around survival, yet there’s some existential madness brewing beneath the surface. Abolishing boredom has squat to do with our survival…
This push is counter intuitive/instinctual because we engage in harmful activity in pursuit of an abstract goal. We damage our bodies, a thing that isn’t instinctual to over come a challenge, which isn’t tangible. Instead of killing an adversary or crossing a river we have chosen the abolition of boredom. Yet boredom is a safe place to hang out, there’s little danger to one’s health there. The only thing I can think of is that we have become so efficient at survival that we’ve been forced to add a twist.
Dead eyes in beautiful bodies going through monotonous prescribed perceptions of fun. We’ve been given too much, we’re spoilt rotten and we don’t give a shit that it’s showing. The only thing that matters is being entertained. Raised on a overly enthusiastic barrage of noise and explosions we look into the realm of ideas and yawn our biggest of yawns. Words on a page aren’t enough. Not when you’ve stomped with a techni coloured tree all weekend followed by three days carving up assassins on the Xbox.
There is a silver lining to be considered, namely the type of villain an environment like ours breeds. There is beauty in the mindless self destruction, the edgy martyrs chasing the perfect state of suspended belief- a journey to arrest the moment and fill it with synapse firing sensory delights. Look at the parties- every sense catered for, every emotional configuration has a congruent prescription just a broken-English filled conversation away. We can get it all day every day and yet, look how bored we look.
What more we come in so many configurations; the amphetamine layered paperback writer, the cocaine addled suite, the playboy nihilist who’s R.D.A of bodily fluid is saturated by lunchtime. A sea of applied chaos, a generation of gifted twisted over achievers all looking to sample the same thing, the epicentre of fuck. What more, I am convinced that we have never looked this good as a species, our stellar grasp of fashion and all round progressive approach to aestheticism would have it no other way.
Tragically hip, infinitely resourced and exponentially twisted. I love generation x.
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