psychology

Nobody Knows What Things Are For

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A while ago someone on Mastodon posted a comment about how people “Don’t know what things are for” when it comes to our so-called leaders. I mean yeah some people know how to make money, but don’t know why things are. They try to get money out of things but don’t care or know.

That kept sitting in my head. People “not knowing what something is for.”

I used to enjoy the show “Dirty Jobs” because it gave me a view into how things worked – what they were for. After watching some poor roadwork in the city I lived in, I took an interest in urban planning and learned more about what things are for. As a Project Manager, I am about getting things done, about what things are for.

And that’s me. I’m sure you have had plenty of experience knowing “what things are for” on the job, in your hobbies, in your life. Some of us grow up in places where it’s part of the fabric of life, from farms to ports to plain historic cities. A lot of us know what things are for.

And, when you know what things are for, you also realize that yes, that person I mentioned was right. A lot of people don’t know what things are for and are making at best bad decisions – at worse just destroying things for greed. Usually seems to be the latter.

Once you see it, it’s hard to unsee it. Communities with people and history fearing data centers will drain their power and water, making them not a place just a host. Farms vanishing into giant agribusinesses. The stock market is even more gambling than it ever ones, and real gambling via online apps seems to turn the world into a casino and not a world. Things are stopping being what they are and are just about money or fame or clicks.

It’s a socio-cultural-economic gray goo. It’s turning things into nothing by people who don’t know what things are for.

But when things stop being what they are, then people stop being anything. Who are you in a world where your job is to train a so-called AI to replace you? Where’s a community when it’s just Influencers selling to each other? Who are you in a world where people don’t know what anything is for?

When no one knows what things are for, then people cease being people.

It’s a peculiarly meaningless world some of our so-called leaders have and want. No wonder so many of them seem so empty and angry – their lives are meaningless. No wonder so many of them fall into conspiratorial politics and grandiose racisms, trying to look for some meaning as well as explaining away people hating them. These people who don’t know what anything are for want to be something, something more than nepo babies or knob twiddlers who got lucky.

Those that build a world not knowing what anything is for aren’t anyone.

–Xenofact

Head Full of Ghosts

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If you’ve done any form of meditation or therapy you know about those complexes in your mind. The fears, the obsessions, the habits that take over so much of our life, probably more than we want to admit.

It’s like having a head full of ghosts.

These aren’t the cool ghosts either. There’s no dramatic revelations of the past or lineage. They aren’t some vital spirits directing us to a better life after three disparate visions. None of these ghosts is delivering useful advice. Not a single one resembles Patrick Swayze.

Honestly, these ghosts in our head, these habits and neuroses, are boring and pathetic.

They’re mechanical and repetitive. They run on tracks burrowed into our mind, clockwork-clicking along whatever path set out by our past experiences. They are powerful, they are annoying, but they’re also not that interesting or unique. The reruns of the soul.

They’re often quite pathetic. A bad experience here, a grudge there, something we didn’t acknowledge in the past. Even the horrible ones are sad, the results of our bad choices or the cruelty of others. There’s something invalid about them, and we fear, about ourselves.

They’re damaging. They hurt us, obsess us, misdirect us, but not in any cool way. They’re often stupidly self-destructive – of ourselves and even themselves. They negate themselves yet always resurrect.

But worse of all these Ghosts, these complexes and obsessions of the past are so empty.

There’s nothing to them. No acknowledgement of reality, even when reality triggers them. They don’t grow. They aren’t relevant even if perhaps they once had reason to exist. When we acknowledge them, their shallowness is stunning. Here we are, people, and we have to share our head with these phantoms.

It’s humiliating. These mechanical, harmful, phantasms drive so much of our life and don’t deserve to. I once read someone discussing the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, and decided to translate what is usually interpreted as craving as humiliation, and I get that.

I find looking at this emptiness, this voidness of our complexes helps me deal with them. When you see their shallowness and pointlessness, you can overcome them. Not necessarily by great exertion or cultivation (though it may help) but by just seeing through them and deciding to move on.

They seem to shrink when you do that. Probably because your attention and ignorance was the only thing keeping them going.

–Xenofact

Seeking Immortality In Racism

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There’s a certain kind of man out there we’ve all seen who has a very predictable downward spiral personally and ethically.

He is aging. Perhaps swiftly, more swiftly than usual thanks to lifestyle choices and, ironically, attempts to extend his lifespan.

He starts to make very racist statements. This doesn’t mean he’s just become racist – indeed it is more likely revealing his beliefs and pathologies, and they’re often getting worse. He’s very concerned about other races and of course his. Almost certainly this person is what we’d call White – very White.

He becomes obsessed with genetics and fitness and pseudo-Darwinism. Again, this is perhaps more a revelation than an evolution. But suddenly he’s quite concerned, dare I say radically so.

He is obsessed with reproduction. His race (again, usuallyWhite) must reproduce, though what that race is doesn’t seem to make sense. Perhaps he invokes some kind of generic Whiteness, breathtakingly meaningless in its attempt to lump together people of many backgrounds. He might invoke “European” origins in some unitary manner, as if Europe hasn’t had a history of its people murdering each other in wars for ages.

Inevitably, his obsession with reproduction becomes creepy (or is revealed to be such). He tries to have children with many women. He discusses the fertility of underaged girls in obsessive detail. Perhaps he divorces his wife to marry someone that could be his daughter – or grandaughter. One gets the feeling that this is revelation of and justification of behaviors warranting not just consideration but investigation.

So let me propose that such a man – such men as we are all too used to – are seeking immortality in their racism. Racist they almost certainly are, but there is even more there in the pathology.

They are aging, aging before our eyes and theirs. They have lived life, perhaps being quite successful, but no one can bribe time, only live inside it. They may also be failures, looking back with regret, wanting something to look forward to. Rich or poor, famous or obscure, the flames of history slowly consume them.

So they seek something to give them a sense of immortality, of pemanance in an ever-changing world, and settle on something easily seized on by the pathological – racism. They invest in the survival of their so-called race, whatever bundle of bigotries and demographics they’ve latched on to. They become obsessed with reproduction, both theirs and others, hoping for the immortality in future generations of a specific race.

Of course, their own personal problems become our problems as we’re all to well aware of what fearful bigots can do. Perhaps we didn’t realize how bad they were, but as they got older they got worse, rotting from the inside. Now, many of them at their peak – in age if not wealth – seek to conquer time and they can’t, and it’s our problem.

When I see some White man, aging, obsessed with reproduction and childbearing and demographics, I see someone grasping for immortality and permanence. They latch on to base bias to give them some comfort as their hair falls out and their skin wrinkles. They want something solid in the world as they face the Reaper, and we all know the world isn’t solid.

There, in the end, is the cry of so many bigots – “I am afraid to die.”

–Xenofact