Burly Writer

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I'm a Writer, if by Writer you mean a misanthrope.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

The Happenstance of Misery


There is such a thing as the "happenstance of misery" where it applies to how people are developed, who they become, and why they are not the people we think they should be.

If everyone shared the same misery, or no misery at all, then we'd all pretty much be the same kind of human being. Evil or good wouldn't factor, nor would the "shades of gray" so many want to extoll, as if that designation justifies any poor decision they make in life.

From a black/white perspective, there cannot be such a thing as the "happenstance of misery," the misery formed when poverty and violence and sexuality and painful revelation all correspond to create the human being at their most malleable. Usually as a child. As it so happens, a child sees the world in black/white terms, by default, and are most likely to experience misery without knowledge of what it is.

Abuse and hardship detail the happenstance, evolve it, and eventually crystallize as pure miserable experience. The experience is heart-rending, sometimes heart-removing. Misery, as attractive to the damned and the mentally-ill as any gorgeous woman or chemical stimulant, grows throbbing roots throughout human history. Bulging with pain, misery finds a throne from which to rule, designed by the cumulative human needs and desires which give it force. This black hole of doubt and remorse has no equal in all the cosmos, for it is essentially organic, essentially human, a mirror of godly proportions for Mankind.

I don't think the fundamentals of "choice" deter misery, since most misery is established so early in life. What other reason can there be for how people mash their way through life, obliterating every odd moment of clarity, demolishing any hope for an occurance of strange beauty to be found in the light glinting off the hide of a beetle?

If there is beauty in the world, it is often masked in misery, a kind of scarecrow in the psychology of Man, placed there by the unknown, with a purpose of chasing away the very question of meaning. If every bullet fired from a weapon is a marvel of scientific engineering, how quick the meaning?

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