I have been having occasional blessed moments where my brain is free of the fog of thinking about politics, culture, and history. Where I am free.
As I have said, the goal is to rid myself of this thing, at least for a time.
For the time being, though, what I am finding is that I feel an OBLIGATION to share what I think and feel, when I seem to be the only one thinking and feeling specific, relevant things.
Where are our serious public intellectuals? The Headless Ones did their best to destroy Jordan Peterson. Milo has been disappeared. Ben Shapiro is not bad, but he’s not great either, especially on culture.
What we have is a horde, a large mass, of lunatics, and a handful or two of public people who are not barking mad.
In such a world, it seems selfish not to try and contribute. By my math, there should be many tens of thousands of people as smart or smarter than me, but it would seem most of them succumb early to one disease of emotional distortion or another, making their thoughts rabid, irrelevant, or so small and specialized that only a few ever see them.
I had a flash the other day of only worrying about football. Or cars. Or chasing women. Or anything other than what I do, which is try and head butt the most complicated problems confronting humanity and knock them back on their asses.
It is tiring being me. Yes, that is me channeling my inner martyr. Truth is, I like being me too. It’s a complicated relationship.
But I did want to say I am getting more and more moments of calm. Despite everything going on, I found myself working well yesterday, and with a smile on my face, most of the day. That just doesn’t happen with me. Everything has always been a difficult act of will.
I am opening up. To what, I cannot know, but it is a good thing. Good for me, and perhaps one day good for you.