How do you judge your friends?

As I type this, I am listening to the thunderously loud, but nowhere near as soothing, drum and bass music through my neighbour’s subwoofers. I have work to do. It’s important work, or I wouldn’t spend my time doing it. But that sort of person, with no value beyond the consumerist society, a fuckwit they feed off, I cannot stand. Strange then, that one of my closest companions is from the very same town.

How do you judge your friends?

Most people go by class. I’ve always found that imposed system constraining. Second most common is selection by attractiveness (you’ve all seen it, the group of people who all fit as a cog in a system; the funny guy, the player, the kooky one, et cetera, like a microcosm of society). Then there are some, like me, whose criteria are a little more loose. I don’t give a fuck what sex you are, what sexuality you are, what you earn, what car you drive, how often you get laid. I judge, by opinion and humour. If you have an opinion that you can reason well, and enough humour to be a decent, considerate conversationalist, you’ve got my attention.

And my attention is appreciating in value every day, thanks to my efforts.

Sadly, this democratic method of friend selection rarely gets applied with most people in everyday life. Perhaps we’re often to afraid we’ll hear opinions we won’t like. But I’m not normal in this respect, because I love that aspect. The questioning. I’m an insatiably curious person, if anything could be said about me. I think if something cannot stand up to rigorous questioning, it doesn’t deserve to be in my thoughts. Our limited time here means you can either use it wisely or waste it like the rabble on the other side of the wall.

Society sees people as statistics. You’re more likely to get killed by a bee than a shark, unless you’re a pro surfer. So to a life insurance company, a part of that societal system, the network, an extreme sports guy who surfs is less of a risk than someone with an allergy to bees near a beefarm.

That ain’t fucking right.

People are not statistics, they are all unique. It doesn’t impart us anything special, as the guy I live proximate toward demonstrates. It is our own responsibility to rise ourselves up in value, to awaken to that precious knowledge that we require development. We are not born Great, none of us. Even the Masters of their respective traditions had to work at it.

That douchebag I mentioned will be good to society. He’ll pay for the raves that pretend to be an alternative culture, the drugs that keep governments in bribes, he’ll buy whatever useless shit they’re peddling this week, whether it be clothes with another guy’s name homoerotically inked across his chest like a signed love letter or low-quality, incredibly-high RRP IT. Why would any reasonable person do this?

Answer: Sadly, most people are not reasonable creatures. They do not question what is before them. They are the ratsin one of my favourite experiments which are presented with two levers: one for food, the reasonable choice, and one for a shot of endorphine (endogenous morphines – natural opoid-like brain drugs). They are the rats that continually press the second lever, for endorphines, until they die, from starvation. Creatures with a brain capable of great thought, acting purely on instinct.

Those bastards don’t deserve it. They don’t deserve the opportunities they pass up.

I often get asked, what is the meaning of life? Personnel at work and in my personal life expect that I will have some form of satisfactory answer.

When I am too tired to give a complete response I will simply ask this question: “Why are you here?

They will um and err and say they don’t know, it is why they just asked me.

No, I will say, you are here, now, in this moment, because this morning you woke up and had a choice. A choice to remain alive. (I recommend Albert Camus for more of that philosophical bent). So you are alive, now. Why did you do this? Only you can answer that, so why ask me?

Essentially, we are creatures that seek semantics. If anything makes us special, or powerful, it is this. That meaning, in my case, a lifelong quest for knowledge and improvement, gives us opportunities. Opportunities to not just be, but to become. More than this. More than a cog in a system. More than an instinct-driven rat that will always feel something is missing but never know why.

This virtual reality is enforced upon us. A world of the Fake: billboards photoshopped to death, music made to sell to the masses than to be good. I suggest everyone, for a time, unplugs from this. Switch off the TV. Switch off Facebook. Switch off your phone. Spend time with people, not Google.

Since when did doing something that depresses you, like watching the evening news for an hour of a weekday, ever become important enough to deserve that much time? They sell a fake reality too, you know. If they didn’t push the sense of impending doom, astronomical crime rates and homicides happening with rising regularity, they’d be taken out of the system. Deleted from the schedule. News nowadays isn’t informative, it’s entertainment. This is how low the instinct-driven horde has become: If it bleeds, it leads.

Don’t listen to it. The false notions of Self, the lies of Being. You’re better than this, to read this far. Become. Change. Discover.

Crucially, vitally; question!