Speaking is straight whack
Silence is worth more than gold
And yet I still talk...
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
Where within a person do feelings of self-worth reside? Do they live in the belly, in the heart, or in the mind? Do they exist on this mortal plain, or do they rush in from beyond our ken, coalescing out of the formless aether when needed? If they can be learnt or forgotten, is there a best time in one’s life to learn or forget them? Do they arise within us via the same process that provides a flying animal such as a duck with the instinctual knowledge of how to fly - even if it has never been taught how to fly by its parent or witnessed another animal in flight?
This author, whose sense of self-worth was badly stunted by external forces at a young age, has been working to peel back the layers of ersatz self-worth accumulated over the years in order to determine if they should be kept, or replaced. So deeply embedded in plastic and subtle membranes is self-worth that his struggle is become a daily Sisyphean task.
Crucial allies in this task have been family, friends, and the lessons imparted by Viktor Frankl in his book ‘Man’s Search For Meaning.’ He wishes to express profound gratitude to all allies mentioned above, as well as to That Which Cannot Be Named.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥
Despite a few years of recession-induced unemployment (during which time he nevertheless maintained eight different blogs each day and wrote hundreds of poems and essays), local self-loathing mendicant Reginald Augustus Steele finally proved his worth to his capitalist overlords. “For a while there, we thought he was a goner,” said billionaire poop-nugget Frances Hyacinth Warbucks, founder of the Buy&Cry retail empire and ultimate recipient of Mr. Steele's meager credit card debt payments. “And with Congress about to pass laws making it a crime to not pay one's financial debts, we were hoping to move Steele into one of our privately-owned prisons. But, alas, he seems to be pulling himself out of this tailspin and getting his life back together. Fuck.“ As a point of emphasis, Mr. Warbucks shot a nearby Filipino maid who had accidentally brushed against a bust of his direct ancestor, one John D. Rockefeller.
“I had my first job when I was 9 years old,” said Mr. Steele, “when I delivered newspapers to broke old ladies living in musty houses for a few dollars a week. I've done everything from courier to production assistant, barber, secretary, salesman, customer service agent, candy man, burial-banner carrier, transcriptionist, construction worker, fund-raiser, inventory-taker, janitor, and lumberjack; I've pretty much seen it all, and tried it all, and all I ever wanted all along was for someone of a caliber similar to Mr. Warbucks to openly acknowledge the fact that I am a productive and industrious individual who is worthy of love, life, and respect.”
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
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