Conform to our normal

We, those of us who are slackers, who find life’s meaning in other places than in everyday life, are different from the Ward Cleavers of the world.  We’re just different, that’s all.  We chose to deviate from the norm.  We chose to base our attitude off of something created, rather than something bland, mundane, banal, anal retentive, or conformist.

Even television is better than nothing, being a Ward Cleaver or Betty Crocker of the world.  I choose to be a deviant Robert Crumb rather than some kind of Chandler from Friends.

That is my choice, and it makes sense.  Why would I want to be boring, and have no intellectual interests?  I’m interested in drama and vision.  I think everyone is on a quest, that everyone has a place in our society. Even the Ward Cleavers are welcome here.

Someone says this to be true, that life is meaningful when you watch it on TV.  I believe that life is meaningful anyway.  There is meaning in life whether we watch it on TV or not. There is meaning in the reflection upon purpose and truth, not in the way that we organize those ideas and try to enforce them in some conformist fashion or other.  Meaning is still there.

You can throw a television out of the window, but you can’t throw out “Friends.”  You have to have an intellectual coinage from television to think your way out of it. And then you have to ask whether shows, characters, dialogue, or cognitive meaning can be had outside of one’s own mind.

To me, if I Nazi in a concentration camp told me that I was going to be knifed to death, I would ask him if I can sharpen the knives.  Sometimes it is how you look at life, and not what it is based on.  The reflection upon these good things in life is true beyond our bodies, beyond the merely temporal.  Keep searching, and you’ll find it.

It is far better to be a conscientious offender, in my opinion, than to be someone who does not mind doing what Hitler wants, and finds meaning, to the full extent possible, of doing exactly that.  I scream “How come?” to those people, as I watch the blood enter my eye sockets, in the extermination camp.  I think that when we both get to the afterlife, I will see them reach some conclusions that were unpopular while they were alive, but are true in that  heavenly realm.

And when asked about mental illness, by God, I will talk about it as some advice I got from a friend, whose father had instructed him to “Buck up little cowboy, and take it like a man!” when he told him he was a real stain on the carpet.  Why take it on honest advice, when you can take it on the authority of the police?  Because this man told me who I was.  He said “You’re not your father’s cowboy anymore. Be somebody your father would never relate to, to test his faith in God. Be a yeoman of your own little world, and see that he understands.”