Very odd dream last night. Jean Claude Van Damme was systematically banging his way through every woman in the city, and when it was my turn (whilst still massively pregnant BTW) I punked out at the last minute when I heard the F-word's voice outside of the motel room and Jean Claude Van Damme asked if I wanted to punk out. But then I felt so bad for leaving Jean Claude Van Damme with blue balls that I gave him a handjob. I'm trying to work out what all that means. I mean, giving someone a handjob is still cheating, right, so why did I think that was a great solution to the awkward social situation? And what was I doing wanting to bang Jean Claude Van Damme in the first place? What messages is my subconscious trying to send me here?
Life is baffling me a little bit today in more serious ways. Family medical situation that is going not at all satisfactorily. I know so many fucking useless or downright lousy people who just keep on metabolizing and reproducing without much problem, and now the person who I, personally, consider probably the most socially useful person I've ever even known is facing serious health challenges and life changes. It disconcerts me, not only emotionally, but to understand once more that good fortune is exactly that - good fortune - and virtue is rarely rewarded and vice punished as clearly as an ethnic Catholic like me would like to see.
Gina Rinehart caused a flap here yesterday by saying Australians should stop, I don't know, being critical and get down to working harder instead of drinking all the time so they could be rich. To me it's wonderfully emblematic of what I mean: the woman is among the world's richest because of who happened to fertilize her momma's eggs, but I'm sure within herself she's absolutely certain her own good fortune is down to hard work, rather than a massive amount of good fortune combined with not being an absolute ass. Everyone who's happy and well off is, I suspect, guilty of this sort of thing to some degree. I know I am, when I don't think things through. What I find interesting about right-wing people is how dedicated they are to maintaining the fiction in policy and in their own heads that a good life isn't down to good luck, and a bad life is just down to vice or some sort of sub-humanity.
Life is baffling me a little bit today in more serious ways. Family medical situation that is going not at all satisfactorily. I know so many fucking useless or downright lousy people who just keep on metabolizing and reproducing without much problem, and now the person who I, personally, consider probably the most socially useful person I've ever even known is facing serious health challenges and life changes. It disconcerts me, not only emotionally, but to understand once more that good fortune is exactly that - good fortune - and virtue is rarely rewarded and vice punished as clearly as an ethnic Catholic like me would like to see.
Gina Rinehart caused a flap here yesterday by saying Australians should stop, I don't know, being critical and get down to working harder instead of drinking all the time so they could be rich. To me it's wonderfully emblematic of what I mean: the woman is among the world's richest because of who happened to fertilize her momma's eggs, but I'm sure within herself she's absolutely certain her own good fortune is down to hard work, rather than a massive amount of good fortune combined with not being an absolute ass. Everyone who's happy and well off is, I suspect, guilty of this sort of thing to some degree. I know I am, when I don't think things through. What I find interesting about right-wing people is how dedicated they are to maintaining the fiction in policy and in their own heads that a good life isn't down to good luck, and a bad life is just down to vice or some sort of sub-humanity.
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento