You could convince yourself that "it’s not everybody"—a psychological, self-administered Turing test ventured into by the self-perpetuating "good child." These children have parents who planned and convinced themselves long before conception: "This child will be different!" No, this child will be cold, self-guarded, fearless, and selfish. After all, they must be, in order to facilitate the job of carrying an invisible, most cherished gift: "We are different, tougher, more resilient... I can’t explain it, but we are special, son/daughter."
But they aren’t. And they soon learn this. As puberty hits, they become a hideous, grotesque version of the perfect little child. In fact, they altogether refuse to grow up entirely or give themselves up to it. It is an ongoing game of clinging to value and self-worth, marked by major shifts in internal plotting and planning.
Most of society [quasi] exists and is run into the proverbial ground due to unabated impulses, seemingly prompted continuously by a glandular base of secretions that lead to ill life choices and ultimate outcomes. In the feverish sexual impulse to be violently violated and desecrated—or to be the administrator of this phallic injection and ultimate inception—there is a grand, unified, self-aggrandizing statement: "You will feel my pain, you will live my pain, you will accept the weight of my karma."
But time goes by and the person remains. No matter how fragile the aging, the sadistic, self-entitled administrator of private cruelty grows soft, sickly, weakened, and eventually fragile to all the world. Only the vinegar should be left. This is why mother and father raised me to think I was better, superior—because in the meanness and cruelty of self-aggrandizement, I have carried a most prized family heirloom of self-entitlement.
The hypervigilance and preemptive, tactical, tiny gaslighting sessions—an attempt to recapture something lost—no longer open a liaison with some unseen god, demon, host, or computer program that surely backed you in all your delusional, perennial family efforts to rise out from the lower slave class and be reinstated as the true heir of feared nobility. But the day never comes. And if it did, the reality is that just about everyone you assumed was beneath you is, in fact, better than you at nearly everything.
Besides, what would even the most perfect human be capable of achieving in and of themselves? No true advancement would be accomplished by way of the individual who obtained and expressed this "superpower" shamelessly; even a tribe of these superior agents would be incapable of escaping this reality, because there is nowhere to go.
Sadism justified the act of final freedom, but from what? You are stuck within the hard parameters of a manufactured, synthetic, ephemeral, and degrading idea of selfhood. The data is more than likely being coldly and arbitrarily gathered, watched, and collected. There is no winning, no final victory, and no justification. Everything you have materialistically, you sacrificed others for; the blinding realization that this is not a euphemism, but a fact, gives rise to what was once paranoia and is now the rulebook.
You are trapped within a construct that is physical, psychological, computational, and—for lack of a better term—spiritual. No amount of money, accomplishment, augmentation, fantasy, role-playing, or therapy can free you from the ever-souring organic experience: you have never been in control. More to the point, something hardset ushered you through this nightmare, no matter how bold and brash you convinced yourself you were.
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