Philosophy of the Sociopath
She was at the most confused state of her existentialist grappling: reaching the point of having won her desires and then being faced with the absurdity of perpetual dissatisfaction. Though it remains true that being controlled had caused great misery to our heroine – who constantly sought for a semblance of freedom from expectation – she was overwhelmed by the implications of receiving no expectations at all now that it was granted. It was beginning to appear that there is some endlessness to being imbibed into yet another culture, another system, another pitfall of modern banality. And now there is nothing expected of her, and then she waits – but must she wait? What becomes of a person with no undertaking, no miserable struggle? Does one wait for the next task at hand that makes the next demand? That you must eat? That you must work? That you must find bliss? Can there never be a moment throughout life that remains motionless? Tell why is there a voice in one’s head that says: something must be done.
The absurdity ensues.
She has spent a great deal of time thinking about what she had done wrong. And that maybe, Freud was a considerate enough man to have thought that one is destined to do what they do, for one is not their own shaper. For if that was the case, and then whatever that was done whether of sound judgment or not, has been pinned down by a most powerful unconscious. There is nothing gorgeous about isolation and desertion – but how is it humanly possible to cause others to leave? Everyday there are people who are called fuck-ups for that reason. (Makes you wonder what their childhood was like). Try to open your mind to the possibility that they are not their own fault. Ask: why are there persons who are condemned? Why punished? Why are they carted away to incarceration, as far away as possible from the “normal”? Truth be told, normal people are as mad and as vicious and as poor as their own complacency. There is no such thing as impalpable madness, only personal history.
Please read this woman right.
This woman I am writing about; this woman who has done so much of nothing to deserve so much of nothing. She is the heroine but she is the heroine of a tragedy. Her personality and resolve is triumphant but not her deeds or the result of them. Do we really want a hero that has done so many things so easily and have taken the certain steps that were recommended to get to that point? What’s the point of this? To finally get there. Wherever that might be. The woman asks herself that if her world view has been distorted and has been cruelly reduced to a vague and impractical lifestyle, why does she speak as though she gripped her words, nursed them in her mind for so long and uttered them with so much affection and certainty. Is that not the sign of clarity? For the person who is mad, everything appears to be clear and full of eccentric meanings that they fully assert. The half-wits, the safeties, the squares, the planned futures, and the comfortable – they don’t sound at all like they’ve understood. Because why else do they categorically call the impractical, the clochards, the sloths, the gays, the drop outs, the criminals, and the marginalized as misunderstood? Yes, misunderstanding exists. But the problem is on how to respond to it. Do you confront misunderstanding by showing no interest or no compassion? The assumption that a person can be a cut above the other permits ignorance. On their part, they have failed to inspect close enough. They don’t really care.
So look.
Who do you think that woman is? Do you really know who she is or is there an assumption that you know her better than she thinks she knows? Have you spent more time thinking about her life than she has? Shall we count in hours? Shall we count in years? Shall we count at all?
