The most frightening and sorrowful thing about us is our willingness – our glee, almost – in exchanging the hard truth for comfort. We’re like the bum shoving his last five bucks across the bar for however much the barkeep will squeeze from the tap. There’s delight in getting the drink. There’s delight in the anticipation as well as the receiving and the imbibing. It may all feel delightful, but it’s also an act of woeful desperation. But what the hell, it feels better to a drunken bum than just a bum for as long as we’re all drunk and somebody keeps paying for another round.
And this exchange for the way you and me and we and the world are – ransomed for a little bit of comfort in what’s not even a clandestine, back alley, underworld exchange. It’s not a rock or baggie exchanged for twenty bucks in some dumb pantomime of a handshake. It’s not even looking for a blowjob prepared to say you’re just asking for directions if nabbed. It’s the bold and bald social media declaration of, “I’m trying to buy a blowjob!!!!!”
Exchanging the potential for a better understanding of things for these cheap, wishy-washy conceptions of ourselves and our God and our goddamned country. And not being embarrassed at these carboard conceptions either; rather, loving them. Willing to fight and die for them, knowing the slightest drizzle warps and wrinkles and turns them to brown paste. So we fight and die and kill to protect our cardboard conceptions from the elements rather than start anew with idols of lumber or stone.
Sickly, it goes on in the churches, newspapers and on the TV – everywhere, right out in the open. It goes on in our breakrooms, billboards, barrooms, airports, and dining room tables. And we’re less ashamed of our crime than the guy caught taking a piss in public is ashamed of his public and indecent exposure. It’s no big deal since we’re all used to exposing ourselves and seeing everybody else’s cocks and tits, so the only shameful thing is to not have yours out there flapping in the wind too.