The Ship of Self: Some of Us Are Speedboats, Some of Us are Ocean Liners

…and then there are those of you who are rowboats. I had an idea today that appeared at first to be about those great ocean liners of personalities that cut slowly and majestically through the sea of memes, but when you look more closely, their grandeur is made up of every little rowboat’s desire to be part of something bigger knit into one huge and useful (idiot?) mirage.

Lemme back up a few steps. Let’s use a concrete example of someone whose persona resembles a cruise ship, and what the hell, let’s go for the most polarizing party boat on the high seas: President Deejay Trump. There’s something very odd that happens to our perception of a person once they reach a certain level of, shall we say, notoriety, or importance, depending on whether you think he’s Hitler or Jesus. We stop thinking of them as people and begin instead to think of them as an eerie animatronic oracle, like there’s nothing behind their eyes but fate. If you cut a Trump, does he bleed green goop or melted gold? What kind of storm really goes on behind those eyes? When you’re a yacht, you have to go on sailing, but you’re a signifier too.

Everyone has a persona, but some people are like ocean cruisers that can carry all sorts of other people around in their persona.

We ride them around, looking out at the scenery.

Maybe it’s the rowboats who have no feelings.

All those millions of dead eyes, staring at a little tugboat till it becomes a monster floating over and sucking up half the sea. If someone gets that big, you’ve made them that way. And all the speedboats can do is fly the fuck away.

Being alive is so excessively strange today; I think all of this historical upheaval is twice as surreal filtered through the Internet.

I have read twenty very stupid blog posts today and repeatedly entered the image that someone else wants to present as their reality… movies became obsolete even faster than books. You have to be a cruise ship now… Oscar Wilde wanted us to make our lives an art form. He didn’t realize that what that meant is that only the big, crappy Dorian Greys ever get seen, ever break the surface; anything made for an IQ above 101 will be driven down under the foam, because majority only, majority, absolute majority, and while understanding can trickle down, it cannot trickle up.

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