The Mean Little Column - "Ennui"

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Mean Little ManThere is a storm brewing outside. I have heard the thunder from a distance, but it will not pass this way. And I am in a deep state of ennui.

What is to be, what will pass through this time? There was a time that I did not exist, and that time shall come again. Between then and now and then again what shall come?

There seems to be three constants. If you are lucky you will find, experience and drink deep of love. If you are unlucky it will not last for whatever reason. And then there is death. Of those we know, and those we don't, and then ourselves.

Leads to nihilism, but from order comes chaos, then order. There are elements of each in each other. We are both conformity and rebellion.

I have been a nihilist, an anarchist. Losing faith in a system I lost faith in a fix, believing it had to be turned upside-down, torn apart, started anew. In whose image? Mine?

Just new rules and new scapegoats.

Then there is peace love and understanding. The undying need for security of mind body and spirit that arises in troubled times. But we abhor anything after a period of time. Peace and love as a movement excludes.

So what then is an individual? Rebellion? The search for defining ourselves against that which others say we are and say we are not. The inner struggle to know which parts of what they tell us is true and which isn't?

That's me, the pointy-haired freak. The visage you see is a side of me. The side that would not conform to the world around me. The side that wants to cause disruption and unease, uncomfortable laughter and averted eyes. The side that wanted to embody what was the direct opposite of those around me found as beautiful. Those around me that made me feel not beautiful. I too would be noticed, and in their noticing see their hypocrisy.

But it was all by their rules. When you fight a system you either adhere to the rules or break them. You lash out at the foot soldiers of the system.

Anti-conformity is but the black to the white, just an opposite reaction.

If you saw me on the street you wouldn't recognize me. The pointy-hair is a freakish side of me that is the attention-getter, the anti-conformist.

A poser? For not being true to who I am day in and day out with pointed-hair? Perhaps.

But I never lead anyone to believe that I am the embodiment of that rebellion.

A sell-out? A long time ago I would've called myself that. Am I being lulled to sleep against the constant struggle not to give in and play by the rules?

I sure as shit hope not. But that's the funny thing about sleep. You can never remember the point you lost consciousness. You can only awake and realize that you hadn't been awake for a long time.

So how do I assert myself as an individual? First off those of you that think I'm a poser or a sell-out because I don't live in the abject no-furniture living that being a daily pointy-headed freak would afford me just to prove that I'm 100% committed to rebellion can kiss my ass. Twice.

I believe there is a moral ground of individual care. Don't be a schmuck. Treat yourself well. Cultivate your passions, and if you're not passionate about anything, that's cool too. But never let anyone tell you the way you are is wrong. You don't have to smack them around. (They love it, it gives them an excuse.) When someone tries to make me feel like I'm wrong or bad or whatever I don't let 'em in. They're not good for me. I spend enough time trying to live life in a way that makes the days of those around me better. I don't need some dried out old crusty man or some psycho making me doubt that living the good life, happy, honest and passionate is wrong.

My rebellion is the choices I make every day. That's where I make my stand. I choose to be honest. I choose to take things personally. I choose to be passionate and not hide from the world. I choose to scream at the top of my lungs that I like being me no matter how difficult it sometimes is. I know what is right and wrong. I stick by it.

And no emblem on my jacket, no brand of boots, no self-help or protest group or gang is going to feed me their mores. The shirt I wear and the shoes I wear are for the purpose of gaining me access to every place with a sign marked 'no shoes, no shirt, no service.'

Maybe the shirt marks me as a yuppie asshole, or a poser concert-goer, or that I'm a sloppy eater. Who cares. It covers my back and that is the why I put it on.

I will not be marked by my clothes or my affiliations. The ones I choose are selected because they exalt me, not guide me.

The choices I make are mine, and they make me unique even if the shirt I wear doesn't make me look like it.

Rebellion in the States was conducted with guns, but from the mind first. They simply said this is not fair and I will not play by these rules. In India they let the British beat them until they got worn out and guilty.

The means by which one rebels shall be the system inherent when the rebellion is finished.

I'm going to continue being me, shouting the individual at the tops of my lungs. Wear what you want, read what you want, listen to the music that moves you. Question everything, and do what you feel to be right. Do it with pride and don't be afraid of what they'll call you. No Mohawk, combat boot or cardigan pisses the oppressors off more than seeing people happy outside of their rules. Happy to be themselves. It is jealousy they harbor for those that are truly individual. Lets make 'em sick with it.

Don't think for a second I've lived in a happy-land bubble. I've seen friends die, give in to the apathy of drugs and mental disorders. I've felt the impending rage of snapping. I've balled my eyes out at god in the dead of night for a single damned reason for all this shit. I know what it's like to lose faith, hope, friends, my mind. It sucks hard and deep. But they'll never break me goddammit. I'm me and they'll never break that.

The thunderstorm is starting to break outside my window. The rain is starting to fall and the low roll of the heavens is reaching my ears through the echoing thunder. I'm signing off for now. I'm going to go watch this little spectacle.

Hugs and Smooches!,
The Mean Little Man on 5-18-2000.

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