Pessimism, enemy number one.

I am currently enrolled in a modern political theory class and so far it has been fascinating. The professor has been focusing on classic theorists and applying their teachings to today's current political situation. Thus far we have studied Machiavelli, who is a genius through and through. Recently he had us watch the classic film "The man who shot Liberty Valance." starring John Wayne and James Stuart. It deals with many important issues, among them being how a town or a state should be run. The two opposing views clash throughout the film, Wayne advocating an anarchy of sorts, a man who solves his own problems and then there is Stuart who is a man of law and order and government. The beautiful thing about the film is that it isn't overbearing and overplayed, the way they advocate their beliefs isn't on the surface, you have to look and really analyze the film to understand the two.

The bit that I focused on, was not the main story line, as fascinating as it was. There was something else at play, the subject of proper journalism. There are two different journalists in the film. The one in the beginning, Maxwell Scott, and the one in the past, Dutton Peabody. The two are exactly opposite when it comes to journalistic integrity.

Peabody can be characterized as not only the sole Newspaper man in the entire town, but also the town drunk. The audience grows fond of his wit and antics throughout the movie. It is clear that Peabody is a raging alcoholic, so much so that when the bar is closed during elections, he nearly has a panic attack. Despite all of this, when it comes to the news, he is a devout and honorable man. He is the only one brave enough to speak up against Liberty Valance. John Wayne waves his gun about threateningly, Stuart speaks of the law and persecuting him, but it is Peabody who writes the truth about Valance, knowing full well it could get him killed. Peabody is constantly scavenging town, searching for a story, trying to find the truth. When nominated for office, Peabody has no desire to take up such a post because of his desire to stay completely committed to keeping politicians on their toes. He speaks out in protest upon the nomination and says,

"Good people of Shinbone; I, I'm your conscience, I'm the small voice that thunders in the night, I'm your watchdog who howls against the wolves, I, I'm your father confessor!"

This is the kind of journalist I want to be. One who shuns any opportunities that involve putting down the pen and picking up the mask. He is brilliant, a drunken mad man, but brilliant.

Maxell on the other hand, embodies all that I loathe in journalism. He is rude, pushy and self absorbed. He uses the readers as an excuse to act like an ass. When Stuart is sitting in the funeral home, observing the coffin, Maxwell enters and shouts that he needs a story, that the people have a right to know. He interrupts the moment of grievance for his precious story and then once he gets it, he hides the truth and throws it away. Maxwell is the character who famously said

"No, sir. This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend."

He hides the real story in order to protect the people in ignorance, to keep the idyllic form of life that everyone is so used to. What Maxwell did was decide that he knew what was best for everyone else. It is not a journalist's place to make such judgments. When it comes down to it, a journalist needs to be ferocious and stop at nothing to get the story, but when he gets it he needs to type it up in an unbiased fashion and put it to print. No one needs to hear his opinion, if he wants to share his opinion, he can do that on his own time. Stories printed in a paper are supposed to be factual. There is no need for flowery language and grand assumptions on the writer's part. Maxwell had an obligation to print that story. He had no place to cover it up, the fact that Stuart was telling him at all was fascinating, if a Senator gives away such a massive tale, you type it up and distribute it to the people! Especially if it redeems a man who was so wronged and so overlooked by history, a man worthy of praise and honor.

I currently can't help but find myself in a state of pessimism though, these Maxwells of journalism seem to be the only journalists out there, or they are at least the majority. How in the world am I supposed to change anything when I am so outnumbered? What can I possibly do in the face of such odds? All I can do is try, all I can do is actually care, unlike most of my colleagues. I'm just going to jump and hope at some point during the fall, I'll evolve and grow wings.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Truth tends to be a pesky noun. Often times in life you will find that people claim that they are the advocates of truth, but more often than not they are actually the people that fear it the most. I tend to be one of those hypocrites. Constantly I search for what is true or real in life, but when it comes down to looking inside of myself and dealing with the ugly truth that directly effects me, that's a completely different story.

I enjoy criticism, I thrill in knowing what people really think of me, but if it has to do with a character flaw I am loathe to realize it. Mainly because of my personality, once I see a problem I have to fix it, I won't rest until I find a solution. So as a result I will stew and focus on nothing but this sliver of truth until it drives me absolutely mad.

I have an immense amount of respect for those who can self evaluate with little fear, who can admit when they are wrong and be happy with themselves. If I see in myself a single flaw that is my fault, I can't forgive that single weakness. I'll beat up on myself until I feel that I've thrashed my dying inner child into submission. I've discovered a new chink in my armor today, one that I've known about all along, but I finally got a really good look at it.

I have this marvelous ability to attract or be attracted to dysfunctionality. I find it in people, I find it in work, I find it in myself. I am fascinated by notoriously damaged people, like the writers and journalists that are depicted as being rather insane self medicaters. Their lives are tragic, because despite their brilliance in so many areas they still have no insight or control in their own existances. There is something so raw and real about that, so ironic... I feel that I went from someone who has had her head on her shoulders to this (as a friend coined) burning ball of fuck. Slowly I've been morphing myself into the cliche.

Perhaps the fact that I am aware of all of this is the most worrying piece of the puzzle. I see myself heading in a poor direction, and like some freak who gets off on desctruction I am bighting my lip and clenching my fists with a feeling of elation in my soul all the while.

It is also quite possible this is all in my head, that I am full of shit.

Ah well..

This was all brought on when a good friend revealed the true motives of a mutual acquaintence. It was just further proof that I have impossible expectations. I go for the wrong thing, always.

I think my own issues can be linked to the American society at large. Perhaps as a nation we are all masochists. We all secretly want to see the world burn but have to keep our faces clear and bright and filled with hope. I've been reading Machiavelli, and his works point out one clear fact about humans. You must not assume that all people are evil, but the evil they are capable of. If we are not looking to put ourselves into ruin, just for that one aggrandizing and glorious moment where we can pull ourselves out of the wreckage and receive praise for our strength of will, then we are sadists. We want to see others hurt so that we can remind ourselves of our humanity. If no one was ever hurt or no one ever tried to hurt another, then we would never have the chance to show everyone how thoughtful and caring we are. It is all a grand show we put on for other people, Social Sadism and Masochism are the giant pink elephants in every home. We all know that they are there, but we continue to watch the news and hope for something catastrophic.

So perhaps I am not so strange, perhaps I am just like everyone else after all.


Then again, I find that very unlikely.

Hmm

This will be a very short entry.

I've made a lot of mistakes in life, I'm not ignorant of that fact. But it's time to change. It's time to create a better version of myself.

Step 1 = Stop drinking alone

Story of my life...

While we're on the relationship theme of the day... Ludo has a fantastic song out called Love Me Dead. It describes, first of all, how horrible a partner can be, but still you have this inexplicable desire to stay with them. Second of all, it details just how evil a woman can be! Which I always appreciate.

Not that I've ever been a bad girl.

To hell with sleep!

Get used to me bitching about my horrific sleep schedule.

I was a good girl, went to bed at 2 am, now it's 5:30 and I'm not even tired. Sweet Jesus.

Anyway, the past couple of days have been interesting for me. I haven't had a drink in about 5 days, which is good for me. But the rum is sitting in my freezer and the coke in the refrigerator and they are both singing a downright gorgeous song. They say you're supposed to wait till past noon to drink, but if you haven't gone to sleep yet does that still count? I remember going to work wasted, that was fun. Especially when it's a job that involves reading small numbers on the spines of books.

Well, after a few moments talking to my ex, I hit up the rum. God I'm hopeless. It's just better for me to drink than think about my problems at the moment. That sounds fairly dumb I'm sure, but I'm going to be seeing my therapist in about a week so I need to start the crazy so I have something to talk to her about. Thankfully, the more he spoke the more pathetic I realized my early morning drinking really was and It is now sitting on my desk, untouched. The desire to drink left as soon as I exited out of the chat window, incredible.

I've discovered a song that may very well be a new favorite:

Charlotte Sometimes - Sweet Valium High

You can have me dye my pale skin
You can beat me, I'll love you while I bruise
You can take me, drug my chapped lips
You can hurt me, I'll love you while I trip

But do you think of her - hands on my waist?
And do you think of me when she screams your name?

Don't want you to drug me up, it all just hurts too much
Don't want you to drug me up, your torture was meant to be love

Do you want it?
'Cause when you fuck me
You are loving me and I am owning you
Do you hate me?
Want to teach me that my place with you
Is lying on my knees?

But do you think of her - hands on my waist?
And do you think of me when she screams your name?

Don't want you to drug me up, it all just hurts too much
Don't want you to drug me up, your torture was meant to be love

We can have a pretty house
We can have a pretty car
We can have pretty things
I know that's what you are

The song makes me think of relationships, or rather the ideal of a relationship. Many people want the fairy tale ending, the house and kids and money. That has never really appealed to me at all. I want to live my life in a crazy way to the very end. The song reminds me of many relationships or affairs that I've been a part of. I find that the excitement behind new relationships is quite like a drug and I treat every man I date like a super hero. I try to make the first months like a movie, action packed with him coming out the victor. Just have fun. But afterwords I get bored because the guy changes. He goes from being a fun loving renegade such as myself and turns into this person who desires a long term relationship, serious commitment. Maybe I would be able to do that if I knew it would be fun, but I've never had a good time while trying to be in a serious relationship.

My question is this: why is society so hell bent on the perfect relationship? We have so much media based on women and men pursuing happiness, and happiness always equals marriage, children and a massive estate. Even shows like Sex and the City that seemingly encourage independence and strong female characters, tried to tie up the ending by neatly marrying off three out of four of the characters. The fourth, Samantha, is a character that is more or less there for comic relief, no one views her character with equal seriousness as the others. So when she fails to get married, the writers keep a wild card and the audience gets to chuckle.

I just wish that I could say I think marriage and commitment and love lasting forever are bullshit and not have everyone flip out or look at me like I have a third eye. Love certainly exists, but I'm not so sure about the whole "soul mate" thing. Do you understand how many men I've been with that have told me I am their soul mate? Yeah, oook.

I think we should let go of the preconceived notions of what happiness is and embrace whatever makes us happy in our hearts. To hell with what everyone else says, I enjoy a good one night stand, but I refuse to think it makes me a whore. I am not going to restrict myself just because it makes someone else frown.

And you shouldn't either.

After this post, I'll definitely be black listed.

So, is it frightening that I agree with the theology behind the Joker's rampage on Gotham? He hates order, he adores chaos. He did what he did in order to point out to people that they need to let go of the OCD style of order they desire in their government. Naturally the violence he perpetrated was not palatable, but it certainly got their attention didn't it? Sometimes the only way people will listen or come together is when something is taken from them. I wish words had as much power as action. Not to worry, I won't be killing massive amounts of people anytime soon.

If the government hasn't put me on their list of "people to watch" yet, I'm pretty sure this'll do it....

Eh well, what doesn't kill you makes you stranger.

Another perfect, restless night.

Once again, I can't sleep during what most would consider "normal" hours. I lay in bed at 5 am, willing myself to shut my eyes and let sleep take over, but I realized around 6 that I was going to have little luck doing so. Upon this realization, I took a shower and got dressed up. I wore an outfit that reminded me of my friend Cindy, because she always puts herself together so perfectly and it's as if she doesn't even realize that she has done so. I put my heals on or as I like to think of them: my big girl shoes. I still feel like a five year old, parading around in my mother's stilettos every time I put them on. I walk as if I have a purpose, as if anyone could possibly have a purpose at 7 am. As I walk, pretending that I'm not thinking that I will fall and break my ankle, I see people sluggishly walking to their jobs or classes. This is a regular routine for them, waking up and sleeping normally. I hate them all, those who can simply act as society expects them to.

I had a revelation on Tuesday night. Mike came over, he was going to leave for California the next day, and we drank as much rum as our bodies could take. He was blessed with the ability to pass out when he is drunk, I however stayed vigilant. When most find themselves drunk and virtually alone, they tend to sleep or find stupid things funny. I turn on myself, vicious and uncaring. I sat next to my window and watched as the campus woke up, still drunk and chain smoking. I began sobbing and laughing at myself, at how pathetic I am. I really hated myself in that moment.

I'm proposing a new social law be passed, you must hook up a breathalyzer to your computer if you are planning on using the internet. If you are drunk, then it won't work. I got online and tore what was left of my reputation to shreds. I actually sent a girl a long private message on Facebook about how I wanted to talk to her and how I thought she was a good person. It was the guilt talking, seeing as how I'd slept with her boyfriend. I talked to a friend about myself, about how I feared that I was quite literally becoming an alcoholic. I asked him why I am who I am and he said something that rocked my world. He told me I was a self hating narcissist.

Finding out what is wrong with you mentally is like discovering after many years of searching, who your real parents are. It fits me I suppose. Constantly I'm doling out advice, even when it isn't wanted, but I never take any of my own advice. I'm quite certain my friends love me a great deal and think that I'm a great person, but the truth of the matter is that I hate myself. I wish that people would tell me what my flaws are, I want someone to be angry at me. It doesn't happen though because for some odd reason, people find my harsh exterior with the kind, creamy interior appealing. I often ask friends if they've ever bitched about me or if there is something they hate about me. They will either reply they have no thoughts of that kind in their heads and genuinely mean it or say no out of fear and hide it.

I think this is the problem with many people in our society, they are frightened of their flaws and want to hide from them. Whenever someone gets angry with them they either flee or act like they don't care. I encourage everyone to ask a friend to tell you what they dislike about you, or what they think you could improve on. I for one have a long list.

I am a borderline alcoholic, I am a self hating narcissist, I smoke too much, I lie a lot, I fuck with people's minds out of boredom, I'm an enabler, I am lazy, I don't put whatever brain I have to use often enough, I laugh when people cry, I am filled with self pity and I drink too much. ...Well I listed the drinking thing twice, I suppose it's doubly true.

I'm re-reading 1984. Just got to the part where he mentions that nothing is illegal anymore, because there are no laws. Now that may sound fantastic at first glance, but when you really think about it, it's horrifying. The world George Orwell creates still has law enforcement. So basically, you can be arrested for anything at all and you can't fight back, because without laws you don't know your rights. We're practically at that point right now, Habeas Corpus anyone? You should probably watch that video if you don't know what it is.

Ashley