Sometimes - okay, all the fucking time, or at least when I'm not thinking about sex or food or all that other, funner shit in Maslow's hierarchy - I think about why people bother being pricks. Usually getting onto that stream of thought means remembering some episode of my own involving being a prick, and not being sure why I bothered as there's so much fun to be had that doesn't involve fucking over other people or having to invent a thousand beautifully plausible rationalizations for being a prick that might be fantastically useful if life or my conscience was a common-law criminal court, which they fucking aren't.
It all gets shady at a certain point in between trying to understand that we're social creatures who get a kick out of being more important than each other, and wondering if naughty people and nice people eventually just get into the habit of approaching life as two radically different games with radically different rewards. I don't think I'll ever understand. But it bugs the hell out of me. The rewards for being naughty seem sort of crappy.
Maybe if I had to worry about money now I wouldn't feel this way - but 'making it' in the worldly sense seems to involve so little pleasure and happiness, and so much demonstration of your power or wealth, so much display, like a peacock weighed down by a ridiculously ostentatious tail. Like the men one meets from time to time who are incapable of talking about anything except their Audis/Beamers/yachts/other possessions that depreciate by 70% as soon as they leave the dealership even when an infant could see their interlocutors eyes were glazing over, or women who are incapable of leaving their apartments without spending an hour or more of their valuable time decorating themselves when they could be occupying themselves by not being so fucking boring.
Gah. Here's some Tom Waits as all his fire and brimstone is probably what got me into the mood for all this judgementalism.