I’m not a Real Person.

For several years, I have been bored. Not a whining, restless child’s boredom (although I am not above that) but a dense, blanketing malaise. It seemed to me that there Is nothing new to be discovered ever again.

Our society is utterly, ruinously derivative (although the word derivative as a criticism is itself derivative). We are the first humans who would never see anything for the first time. We stare at the wonders of the world, dull-eyed, underwhelmed. From the Pyramids, The Nuclear Age, icebergs, volcanos, Tsunamis.etc .

I can’t recall a single amazing thing I have seen firsthand that I didn’t immediately reference to a movie, TV show or a fucking commercial. You know the awful singsong of the blasé: Seeeen it. I’ve literally seen it all, and the worst thing, the thing that makes me want to blow my brains out, is: The secondhand experience is always better. The image is crisper, the view is keener, the camera angle and the soundtrack manipulate my emotions in a way reality can’t anymore.

I don’t know whether we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the Internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say; when a loved one dies, we know the words to say. If we want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know the words to say. We are all working from the same dog eared script.

It’s a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, actual person, instead of being collection of personality traits selected from an endless automat of characters. For if all of us are play-acting, there can be no such thing as, for instance, soul mates, because we don’t have genuine souls.

It has gotten to the point where it seems like nothing is real anymore. So maybe I’m not a real person and neither is anyone else.


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