Filed Under: Journal
Important things are important to me. I hate them, I hate them. They’re stupid, stupid, stupid. This summary meant to read like a tantrum.
The banking system, peak oil, religion, politics, homelessness, fish stocks, starvation, genocide are all important topics to me as they are to everyone else. I’d hazard that I think about them at a rate that would be considered higher than average. Here’s the thing, right, I don’t know anything about anything I consider to be important. What I just said is a lie, but it isn’t much of one. I think I know quite a bit about things I consider important, but what I don’t know is teachable amounts about things I consider important. Preaching on a subject, in my mind, requires that the preacher have an intimate knowledge of that subject driven by an authority earned in education or experience. I don’t care what you think about nuclear energy unless you’re a nuclear physicist, or an environmental engineer, or an analyst who can effectively source a nuclear physicist or environmental engineer, and so on.
The above is a glib description, and so is incomplete, but it is also representative. I have all manner of opinion on all manner of topic that I’ve no sufficient experience or competence to discuss with certainty or authority. So, I don’t write anything of a nature I consider to be valuable or relevant.
There are things I occasionally would like to write about and that I’m qualified and competent to write about in that they require no meaningful competence or qualification. I could write about is programming, or video games or things of that nature. These things are not important. I like them, and while I would not say they are important to me, they do occupy a great deal of my time and attention and as a result I have all manner of opinion on them. As it turns out these subjects don’t really matter, and so, I don’t write about them.
See how that works? I can’t write about important things because they’re too important, and I can’t write about unimportant things because they’re not important. Well, that’s bullshit, isn’t it? Leaving aside briefly the psychological ramifications of being competent only in frivolity, I’d really like to be able to write because I like writing. Also, I want sweets, boobies, and to never have to work again.
This is where being moderately clever and of low moral fiber comes in. I have unleashed the Power of Rationalization upon my own value system and it was super effective. So, I’m going to drop the idea that I have any standards or narrative for what will appear on this page. I’ve also given myself permission to use the word boobies. I didn’t really follow that rule before, so it’s not a big deal, but it’s nice to have it there in the toolbox.