I'm going to make some assumptions. First I'm going to assume that you are of the upper caliber the elite, the thinkers, those that can find themselves weaving together such conscious high points that most other people, the average ones, aren't going to understand. Look at the average people now just look for a while. See them blunder from place to place, failure to failure, never caring what their own ineptitude will cause. Never worrying about the heartache and all the extra work that their own failures will present to those of the elite as we trundle into the day to clean up the messes of the weak minded. Straighten out the problems caused by the lower caliber. If we were magnums, they would be air pistols. Sometimes the day to day cleaning up gets to be too much. You feel overwhelmed, destitute in a world where you are doomed to take two steps forward and three steps back because of the actions of the stupid.
Sometimes the overwhelming takes on a life of its own. The optimist may tell you the glass is half full, but the pessimist knows that regardless of how full the glass is what's in it was probably made by a dolt and tastes like shit. Maybe that's a terrible way to think sometimes, but pessimism is something that comes naturally after you've scraped the bad-smelling shit of dolts from your boots for over a quarter decade. And no matter how much you scrape off you always know that when you step outside on the morn of the next day, it's only going to build up again stick to the soles of your feet and follow you like a greenish brown, stinking cloud because the average are everywhere. They cook your food, they fix your car, they force your vehicle of change and advancement into the ditch of failure. They revel in it if indeed they could find the neurons needed to form a thought based in revelry. And as you sit there in your cloud wondering just when you'll be able to come out for a breath of fresh air they, to quote the great Cleese, "fart in your general direction." Their stench of average deeds and average thinking and average lives swarm upon your head and leave their sticky tendrils of stinging failures that you have to continually clean up like confused wasps after you've pissed on their nest.
Failure becomes the norm hanging their heads in shame and waiting for us, the elite, to come and save them from their humdrum lives and invent things that will make their lives easier while they wallow in their pits of normalcy and despair. You can see them every day going from place to place and complaining of their problems and placing the guilt and the blame on anyone who comes within their sticky reach. The guilt-ridden average will remove their guilt the only way they can muster, by justification and placement of the guilt onto whatever means and whatever method they can gather round them. Lawsuits where people make a few extra millions placing blame on everyone but who deserves the blame themselves. It is their failures, yet the fingers do point and the jaws do snap and the wallets do itch to snatch a piece of the corporate pie. "It is not my fault the coffee spilled and I burned myself," says one. "They made it to hot!" And "It is not my fault I ran out of gas it is the state police's fault for taking so long to get there to fill it." I take these from true examples point your fingers and place your blame and by that the average people are no longer to blame for their own failures for their own faults. It is now the guilt of others' and they can go blindly blathering into whatever next failure they wish to concoct. When blame becomes misplaced, failure becomes the norm. Why answer for your mistakes when you can find someone else to answer for it instead? Consequences are no longer a form of justice they are now a skewed and warped form of misdirection leading to a society where nobody needs to answer for themselves. "So what if I placed the coffee between my scrawny, average, faultless legs and took a turn at forty? So what? That's irrelevant. If the coffee wasn't so hot, I wouldn't have been burned." As sad as it is, it is the only answer available when failure becomes normal, consequences becomes irrelevant and blame becomes removable.
If there are no monetary gains that can be made from their mistakes, the average will ignore it. Let the ship sink beneath the waves and forget about it, for if consequence is irrelevant then what have they to worry about when their lives are unaffected by their accidental blunders? Need they stop and correct the mistake? Not if consequence means nothing, for they have work to do they need to continue on to their next mistake, for blundering is hard work indeed! Mistakes are commonplace. They are the meat and potatoes of the average. Sometimes, I think, they even compete. Who's blunder made the biggest boulder and just how hard did it hit the unsuspecting target as it rolled down the hill and smacked headlong into the work of the elite? It's the Blunder awards. Sometimes, if the average schmuck perfects the creation of their mistakes, they can even make it look almost like work. "Look at all I did today boss! I have engineering fixing this and accounting fixing that and all because all I did was take a dump in the corporate vat of inconsequential blunders!" Then they retire to their cushy homes bought with the money of their own failures following the successful cases over hot coffee and lack of gas.
Their very ineptitude baffles us the elite. They laugh their way into a new day blundering along like pot-bellied drunks on a binge and their very inability alone can breed gigantic boulders of shit-encrusted problems that they leave behind like slimy trails of the average snail. Slipping from mistake to mistake, gathering the strength of poor performance and hurling it into the pit of sociological crumbling so that the few, the elite, can once again have something to do. We have to clean up the ineptitude-driven mistakes so that we can remain at the level we are never enough will we find the time to move ahead of the level we are and take ourselves, our society and maybe even our consciousness on a global scale to a higher level where maybe, someday, ineptitude is something frowned upon rather than celebrated and there is an unspoken justice that those who make the messes have to clean the messes. The last time the average, in their lives, had to clean after themselves is kindergarten and no more do they have to worry about the consequences of where they shit or just how much they screwed up the works of others. Ineptitude, after all, is expected. Failure is normal. And mistakes are celebrated. The inept shit where they please. They get others to shit there too, and they all forget to wipe their asses.
What's the difference, really, if failure is the norm? Why should you put in more work if the next average builder isn't trying? It's a system of mediocrity, allowing those who want to perform less and worse only do so because there are so many doing the same thing that it would barely cause a ripple in the sociological pond of sewage that permeates our everyday lives. Let the world applaud your tower if it stands straight until the end. By that time you've already received your praise and then you can blame your failure on the loose ground beneath your work. How can the average expect to do something worthwhile when all the others are churning out more shit that the elite have to mop up? So the mediocrity is bred, the tower continues to fall and eventually the children of the average will go out and be average themselves, breeding humanoid after humanoid that will do nothing but create bigger and better mistakes for the Blunder awards to chew on. Simpletons breed simpletons, and out they come swimming through the aforementioned sewage in droves, like schools of bottom feeding fish never bothering to see if there is anything worthwhile at the top of the water and remaining where they are continuing in their simplistic and unfulfilling lives. Achievements null and void, the mediocrity building to a crescendo of failed mistake-ridden noise ringing in all the world's ears yet nobody has the capacity to sweep up the garbage or clean up the bricks of the tower that has just fallen and crumbled into the chaos of dolt-ridden conformity.
And why do the crumbling bricks of mediocre projects sit there to rot, choking out in their dust and smoke whatever is in their way? Because the average dolts of our society are too lazy. These days you need no laurels to sit down upon them; you need only the thrill of procrastination coursing through your veins like a bad heroin overdose from the Lizard King himself. Aspiration to something more than the norm, greater than the average, is impossible in thirty-second goldfish thoughts that are wiped clean like the shake of a child's drawing toy. The laurel-less idling is easier, simpler to accomplish. Greatness takes work, and with all the time put in by the average to create bigger and better mistakes, concocting their boulders of ineptitude and providing them with the momentum they need to ripple the sewage-laden pond of society, there is no time for aspiring to something better. So cleaning up is unattainable and procrastination becomes their food and drink as they sit and get fat, billowing their bellies over their belts while their lizard-like tongues poke their uncaring distaste for the value of hard work and attainable goals. And when the sun rises over the horizon of crumbled towers and fallen bridges the heat ripples the pond and shakes the thoughts of yesterday from their simplistic single-digit minds and they start anew never learning, never caring, never worrying about who cleans what. Only pushing forward just enough to attain the idle time they so love where they can masturbate their tongues and pass their stinking gas while they wait for the elite to come and clean up after them like bedridden idiots who need help to wipe their encrusted asses if even they bother.
Toleration of the elite by the average becomes an exercise in distance, only suffering greatness from afar through pixel-driven glasses that have become more of a window than a past time where they spend hours blanking their neurotic chatter to further allow them to live through the doers rather than wallow with the losers. Losing becomes more sufferable when you're surrounding by the same. The occasional triumphs of the average are tempered by losses of such paramount proportions that entire committees are required to justify the deaths that occur in the fallout that follows. The blame requires shifting and the fact-finding committees are created to take the place of the fact-facing committees so that the losing becomes commonplace and the justification typical and when finished no goal was attained and no work performed to the end of winning the next time only allowing themselves to suffer the losing this time. And when the next loss comes, they are ready, for their committees have already begun to concoct the boulder that they will use to create the deterrent from thought that the rest of society needs to shake their neurons to blankness and forget about what it is they lost and whatever it might have been they had to gain. For if you consistently prepare to lose, you shall. Winning isn't necessary and becomes only a boob-tubed fantasy piped into the living rooms of the average so that they have something to click their tongues about in next week's committee meeting.
And once the losing becomes commonplace, the overwhelming sense of defeat that permeates the entire sewage-laden pond overshadows all hope of accomplishment. When "Be all you can be" becomes a slogan of death, a macabre machination of continuous destruction, it loses it's appeal of being something beyond the average. It is now easily dismissed and with the dismissal of being something comes the continuous struggle to not avoid losing, but to simply avoid being blamed for the loss. Inject your energy not into the advancement of the species, but the staying of yourself in whatever wallowing pit you feel is large enough to fit your weight-laden form. Is it any wonder that the average are too busy admonishing all others with their problems while they ignore their own? And the boob tube pipes in the defeats of the world to their wallowing pits so that the average simpletons of the world can watch the losing battles of other people portrayed for them in all its glory and therefore shake their minds free of their own obsolescence and every day losses. It is the only way to live with such life-long defeat - for when failure is expected then defeat's defecation becomes a common heap that oozes into every crack and sore of humanity; unavoidable, ugly and odiferous to the highest extremes. It gets caked to your boots, dragged wherever you go, and the bottom feeders of the pond will eat of it and produce more in abundance.
And out of the defecation comes the violence bred of a lifetime of agony. First the mediocrity brings the mistakes, and the mistakes bring the losing, and the defeat will breed the violence against those of us who haven't yet lost. Their wallowing hole can not be ridden with those that are of higher power. It breaks up the conformity, causes grief and anxiety among the average. And the average rail against the better than them taking all their grief and agony to lash out against what they deem is against them. Society has no room for the elite. When the elite are done cleaning up the shit and messes of the average, they put their minds to bettering the lives of themselves and thereafter the bettering filters down to the dolts who now have something new to adjust their lifestyles to. Change breeds animosity and the elite are the cause of this change. So with their agony, beaten continuously to pulps of barely organic, defecating masses of proto-humanity, the average will lash out against the better. For if the change is not something they thought of, then it is yet another defeat to add to their agony of living.
If the average can't use their agony to lash out against the latest of their defeats at the hands of the elite, even the will to make bigger and better mistakes upon which to heap their Blunder awards becomes boring and uninvolving. They instead breed a hatred, an apathy towards whosoever comes within striking distance of their lizard-clicking tongues that they can no longer even appreciate the finer mediocrity in their lives. Instead they sit and rot, from the inside out, the core of their being overtaken by so many years of failure and mistakes that their skin cracks, crumbles like the toppling towers they've built before and turns shit-stained brown to match the color of their fecality. And the elite, who have been working and cleaning up after the average, are still able to move with agility and speed. By this time their apathy has withered them down to a virtual nothing that only pulses in their own sewage so that we can finally, maybe, take up the job of moving ahead of where the average are left behind. They struggle for their breath, trying to drag themselves forward on their clawed, terrible little hands to keep up with the Joneses in their strive to be part of the bigger whole. But before they can join the whole they must drag their smelling, rotting carcasses from the holes they have dug years before as the mistakes built up and the boulders they laughed at as it sped towards the pond is still moving when they wish it would stop, gouging and plowing below them, deepening their holes and forcing them to sink deeper and deeper like the ships they have sunk in their youth. And fall farther and faster like the towers whose crumbling they found amusing so long ago. And here they sit; stinking and filthy in the dim, effervescent light of their own fading humanity and life wondering why they are there. Because everyone else who is average in the world did the same thing they did. Because they have followed in the footsteps of those before, racing toward failure, jerked by the strings of the committees they once were a part of like the Megadeth marionettes. And their apathy for those who did things differently, who instead of following in the failed footsteps of the fore-shitters struck out on their own promoting the lack of shit rather than the full of shit, grows to such proportions that they choke on it like Eve's apple shoved down their throat by the fist of conformity.
And here we, the elite, let them rot. While they waste away eaten by the maggots of their own stupidity that have been bred and born in the cracks of their shit-stained, overly abundant epidermal layers, we must continue to carry on to complete the cleaning up of the piles and boulders of failure they have left behind. We must pick up the trash they have left clogging and littering the streets of the world and dispose of it the only way we know how by shoving it back where it came; up the unwiped asses of the mundane. And watch them writhe and cry, trying to lash out and poke their withered, forked lizard-tongues at us in their last and final blame-shift in an attempt to justify the state of their pathetic existence and, yet again, refusing to accept their own consequence that is their fate. "But I did everything everyone else did," they blather sobbingly. But never did they try and expand the 30-second thought loop they possess. Never did they try and for once accept the consequence and clean up after their own dumping like they once did as dim witted children in their first year of brainwashing. Complacency is their key, procrastination their food and drink. Their laurels have faded away into the nothingness with their similarly configured accomplishments and the catharsis that follows them into their pits of fecal despair showers them with all the guilt, mistakes and consolidated stupidity that they, for so many years, thought to be normal. The wave of conformists are now swallowed by their own piles of shit that we didn't get around to cleaning up yet. And when we do, the proto-human that was swallowed by their own pile of excrement gets cleaned up too and forgotten. It will be the deeds of change put forth by the elite that will be remembered.
But is there time for these deeds? The stupid have bred