Wednesday September 12th 2012 Tim
Wise men have often reminded me that thinking about
meaning is a wasted exercise. They will add, that what a
person needs in order to find solace or comfort here on earth is a sense
of purpose. Those who have none, are doomed to a sort of
madness, because meaning is always invented. Wise men have also
told me that sometimes it is necessary to find solace through that
combination which is summarized by the words anger, fear and hatred.
This visceral moment, they tell me, boils the blood and should be raised
as a substitute for usefulness, then followed until something less
volatile comes along.
When you get to my age, and I keep
being reminded that I'm not as old as I feel, there is the traditional
temptation to find a visceral inspiration, and therefore continued
existence, from observing the ambitions of youth. Fortunately
for the preservation of my soul and its sense of purpose, I have irregular
contact, some of it quite personal, with managerial and supervisory lackeys
who without my actually asking for drivers license or birth certificate or
species identification, I would guess come in somewhere between
fourteen and twenty five years of age. And I'll save you the
trouble by calling this solution to the problem of meaning, devil worship.