Personal Responsibility
Draft 1:
Does knowledge define conscious identity? If so, is it also the incidental catalyst for competition, insecurity, and prejudice?
We know that everything happens for a reason. When our hearts are bleeding and broken after they’d been berated by life-affirming failure, we accept destiny as knowledge. Fate, we say, will mend. It was meant to be. Leave it to fate.
Knowledge is not restricted to truth. In fact, most of the knowledge that mingles in relationships isn’t true. Knowledge that all blacks smoke menthols. Knowledge that all Asians are good at math. Knowledge that all women just need to be loved. Knowledge that men are genealogically uncouth. This is knowledge that actually plays into our lives because this is the principle off of which people interact.
When we’re children, we are blank slates of knowledge, barely learning language and motor skills. Once we fathom functional basics, we can move on to the knowledge like fate and stereotypes. Predetermined notions serve as short cuts in spending the time to actually get to know every person. We generalize. It’s more efficient.
Logically by this principle, we categorize every aspect of life that is unfamiliar or foreign. Situations turn into results, and results become expectations. The founded anticipation leads us back to our conditional obsession with fate. We use our capacity of thought to speculate that fate will speculate. Our individuality is defined by what we do, and what we do is think too much about too little.
When our primary actions become penning up and filtering our opinions- our only voice- we are defined as the individuals who restrict individual voice. We are the censored. We are the embarrassed, the introverted. If we don’t acknowledge our opinions, we become feeble in our evolving identities. Likewise, if we don’t embrace our mistakes we will never learn from them. Truth is a mistake.
Draft 2:
There are catalysts that make us believe what was meant to happen always happens. In our good, sound sense we never believe in fate and we praise ourselves for contentment, but when we have our hearts bleeding and broken in the face of ultimate failure, we accept destiny. “Fate will mend. Leave it to fate. It was meant to be.”
What logic do we contrive from our lives? Is there ever a plateau of inclining confusion, or does more knowledge just lead to more disorientation? Is learning the source of self-consciousness? And if so, the incidental source of competition, insecurity, and prejudice?
Knowledge doesn’t have to be truth. In fact, most of the knowledge that affects people isn’t true. Knowledge that all blacks smoke a certain type of cigarette. Knowledge that all Asians are good at math. Knowledge that all women just need to be loved. Knowledge that men are inherently sex-driven and uncouth. This is the knowledge that actually plays into our lives. This is the principle off of which people interact. When we’re children, we are blank slates of knowledge, barely having time to learn language and motor skills. Once we can fathom these, we can move on to the knowledge we need for interacting. Predetermined notions serve as short cuts in spending the time to actually get to know every person. We generalize. It’s more efficient.
Logistically, by this principle, we would categorize every aspect of life that was new and foreign. Just like categorizing people, we organize situations. “This is just like that other time.” “This is nothing like that.” So situations turn into results, and results set founded speculations, and we have returned back to the conditional belief in fate. “I speculate that fate will speculate.”
We think too much. We are what we do. When we pen up and filter our speech, our thoughts fester as their own entity, and we become the person hiding that entity and the adjacent veneer. We are embarrassed and introverted if we don’t say what we think. If we don’t acknowledge the great things we’ve done, we become feeble in our evolving identities. Likewise, if we don’t embrace our mistakes we will never learn from them.
This is a mistake. A cultural mistake is accessing this knowledge before accessing stereotypes. I can list off stereotypes like they were apparent truths because of how engrained they have become in my knowledge. It took me two precursory sentences to list four solid generalizations, and it took up until now for me to realize people can waste life living inside their heads. We are trained. We are trained like dogs. It’s not our fault. We were born into it. We are victims of circumstance. Don’t persecute us. Instead, propagate the helpless dogs that can’t help themselves. Grant pity and freedom to the mindless soldiers who follow the man in front of them. Let the domestics into the wild because they told you to. Because they feel like it. They don’t know any better.
We’re little kids running away to the tree house in the back yard. We’ll come back inside when it gets too wet and cold. Mom will take our blankets, hot out of the drier and warm us up in the house of social contracts and stereotypes. We got hungry and lonely in the tree house where we keep our porn and our weed. Where we keep the little hedonistic bits of freedom that prove our recklessness and our self-granted liberty to break the social contracts, but only if it’s a socially acceptable infringement. We don’t get caught.
And I’ve now become a bitch because I pointed it out so impolitely. I brought it up in a light that was unflattering. Use a warmer lamp. Put a cheese cloth over the bulb and light from the left. Better. Softer. Less shocking. Less infuriating. I am not haughty. Let me prove it to you. Let me prove how well I fit into society’s ideal of civic duty. Let me prove how submissive I can really be. I will go home tonight and eat food that my dad paid for with money from a corporation that wishes his job could be done by a computer because a repairman is more efficient than a sales representative. I will take a shower in a bathroom that my mom decorated for my brother and me so that beige was properly represented in all intensities and gradients. I will then go to work and put myself through an experience that I pseudo-tolerate for money I only need for temporary satiation, and that fiscal happiness will probably not outweigh the time I spent at work escaping to a fantasy of an ex-boyfriend forgiving me.
Exiting Plato’s cave is the acceptance to live deliberately. The flaw is that we leave the cave, but get thrown back into it for the sake of society. We’ve seen the light, but only on a day trip. Where we live is in the cave, with the dim fire burning and abridged lives churning for the sake of simplicity.
Draft:3
Does knowledge define conscious identity? If so, it is also the incidental catalyst for competition, insecurity, and prejudice.
We adopt the faculty of “knowing” that everything happens for a reason. When hearts are bleeding and broken after life-affirming failure, we accept destiny as “knowledge.”
“Fate will mend. It was meant to be. Leave it to fate.”
Knowledge is not restricted to truth. Knowledge that mingles in relationships isn’t true. Knowledge that all blacks smoke menthols. Knowledge that all Asians are good at math. Knowledge that all women ‘just need to be loved.’ Knowledge that men are genealogically uncouth. This knowledge plays into our lives because it is the principle of interaction.
Children are blank slates without knowledge, feebly learning language and motor skills. Once we fathom functional basics, we move on to the knowledge of fate and stereotypes. Predetermined notions serve as short cuts in spending the time to actually get to truly know every person. Generalization is more efficient.
Logically applying this principle, we categorize every aspect of life that is unfamiliar or foreign. Situations become results, and results become expectations. Founded anticipation leads us back to our conditional obsession with fate. We use capacity for thought to speculate that fate will speculate. Individuals are defined by actions taken, and our only action is thinking too much about too little.
Primary actions become the penning up and filtering of our opinions- our only voice- and thus we are defined as the individuals who restrict individual voice. We, the censored. We, the embarrassed; we, the introverted. Without acknowledgment of self, our evolving identities deteriorate. Likewise, if we don’t embrace our mistakes, we will never learn.
Truth is a mistake. This is a mistake.
A mistake is truth being spoken instead of engrained stereotypes. It took two precursory sentences to list four generalizations in culture, and up until this moment to tell you that people will waste parts of their lives living inside censorship. That sentence was a mistake.
Like dogs, we are trained. Blameless and born into it, we are victims of reality. Don’t persecute us. Propagate the helpless dogs that cannot help themselves. Grant pity and freedom to the mindless soldiers who follow the man in front. Let the domestics into the wild because they feel like it, and don’t know any better. We are little kids running away to the tree house in the back yard. Mother will take our blankets hot out of the dryer and warm us again in the house of social contracts and general knowledge. Hungry and lonely in the tree house where we keep our porn and our weed, the little hedonistic bits of freedom that prove recklessness and self-granted liberty to violate the social contracts. A socially acceptable infringement. We don’t get caught.
I apologize for the impolite and unfiltered opinion. I bring truth into a light that is unflattering. Use a warmer lamp. Put a cheesecloth over the bulb and light from the left. Better. Softer. Less shocking. Less provocative. Now it looks like we know what we’re doing.
Let’s go home. We know home. There, we can eat food paid for by a company that would rather Father was a machine, because a repairman is cheaper than a sales representative. Let us take a shower in the bathroom that Mother decorated with all properly represented intensities and gradients of beige. Then, a pseudo-tolerable job that will only give financial and temporary satiation.
Exiting Plato’s cave is the acceptance to Live Deliberately. We’ve seen the garish light of truth, but only on indulgent day trips. Society’s call seduces us back to the cave of guesses and reckless acceptance, with the dim fire behind us, burning, and abridged lives churning for the sake of simplicity.
Draft 4:
“Fate will mend. It was meant to be. Leave it to fate."
Does knowledge define conscious identity? If so, it is also the incidental catalyst for competition, insecurity, and prejudice.
We adopt the faculty of “knowing” that everything happens for a reason. When hearts are bleeding and broken after life-affirming failure, we accept destiny as “knowledge.”
Knowledge is not restricted to truth. Knowledge that mingles in relationships isn’t true. Knowledge that all blacks smoke menthols. Knowledge that all Asians are good at math. Knowledge that all women ‘just need to be loved.’ Knowledge that men are genealogically uncouth. This knowledge plays into our lives because it is the principle of interaction.
Children are blank slates without knowledge, feebly learning language and motor skills. Once we fathom functional basics, we move on to the knowledge of fate and stereotypes. Predetermined notions serve as short cuts in spending the time to actually get to truly know every person. Generalization is more efficient.
Logically applying this principle, we categorize every aspect of life that is unfamiliar or foreign. Situations become results, and results become expectations. Founded anticipation leads us back to our conditional obsession with fate. We use capacity for thought to speculate that fate will speculate. Individuals are defined by actions taken, and our only action is thinking too much about too little.
Primary actions become the penning up and filtering of our opinions- our only voice- and thus we are defined as the individuals who restrict individual voice. We, the censored. We, the embarrassed; we, the introverted. Without acknowledgment of self, our evolving identities deteriorate. Likewise, if we don’t embrace our mistakes, we will never learn.
Truth is a mistake. This is a mistake.
A mistake is truth being spoken instead of engrained stereotypes. It took two precursory sentences to list four generalizations in culture, and up until this moment to tell you that people will waste parts of their lives living inside censorship. That sentence was a mistake.
Like dogs, we are trained. Blameless and born into it, we are victims of reality. Don’t persecute us. Propagate the helpless dogs that cannot help themselves. Grant pity and freedom to the mindless soldiers who follow the man in front. Let the domestics into the wild because they feel like it, and don’t know any better. We are little kids running away to the tree house in the back yard. Mother will take our blankets hot out of the dryer and warm us again in the house of social contracts and general knowledge. Hungry and lonely in the tree house where we keep our porn and our weed, the little hedonistic bits of freedom that prove recklessness and self-granted liberty to violate the social contracts. A socially acceptable infringement. We don’t get caught.
I apologize for the impolite and unfiltered opinion. I bring truth into a light that is unflattering. Use a warmer lamp. Put a cheesecloth over the bulb and light from the left. Better. Softer. Less shocking. Less provocative. Now it looks like we know what we’re doing.
Let’s go home. We know home. There, we can eat food paid for by a company that would rather Father was a machine, because a repairman is cheaper than a sales representative. Let us take a shower in the bathroom that Mother decorated with all properly represented intensities and gradients of beige. Then, a pseudo-tolerable job that will only give financial and temporary satiation.
Exiting Plato’s cave is the acceptance to Live Deliberately. We’ve seen the garish light of truth, but only on indulgent day trips. Society’s call seduces us back to the cave of guesses and reckless acceptance, with the dim fire behind us, burning, and abridged lives churning for the sake of simplicity.
Does knowledge define conscious identity? If so, is it also the incidental catalyst for competition, insecurity, and prejudice?
We know that everything happens for a reason. When our hearts are bleeding and broken after they’d been berated by life-affirming failure, we accept destiny as knowledge. Fate, we say, will mend. It was meant to be. Leave it to fate.
Knowledge is not restricted to truth. In fact, most of the knowledge that mingles in relationships isn’t true. Knowledge that all blacks smoke menthols. Knowledge that all Asians are good at math. Knowledge that all women just need to be loved. Knowledge that men are genealogically uncouth. This is knowledge that actually plays into our lives because this is the principle off of which people interact.
When we’re children, we are blank slates of knowledge, barely learning language and motor skills. Once we fathom functional basics, we can move on to the knowledge like fate and stereotypes. Predetermined notions serve as short cuts in spending the time to actually get to know every person. We generalize. It’s more efficient.
Logically by this principle, we categorize every aspect of life that is unfamiliar or foreign. Situations turn into results, and results become expectations. The founded anticipation leads us back to our conditional obsession with fate. We use our capacity of thought to speculate that fate will speculate. Our individuality is defined by what we do, and what we do is think too much about too little.
When our primary actions become penning up and filtering our opinions- our only voice- we are defined as the individuals who restrict individual voice. We are the censored. We are the embarrassed, the introverted. If we don’t acknowledge our opinions, we become feeble in our evolving identities. Likewise, if we don’t embrace our mistakes we will never learn from them. Truth is a mistake.
Draft 2:
There are catalysts that make us believe what was meant to happen always happens. In our good, sound sense we never believe in fate and we praise ourselves for contentment, but when we have our hearts bleeding and broken in the face of ultimate failure, we accept destiny. “Fate will mend. Leave it to fate. It was meant to be.”
What logic do we contrive from our lives? Is there ever a plateau of inclining confusion, or does more knowledge just lead to more disorientation? Is learning the source of self-consciousness? And if so, the incidental source of competition, insecurity, and prejudice?
Knowledge doesn’t have to be truth. In fact, most of the knowledge that affects people isn’t true. Knowledge that all blacks smoke a certain type of cigarette. Knowledge that all Asians are good at math. Knowledge that all women just need to be loved. Knowledge that men are inherently sex-driven and uncouth. This is the knowledge that actually plays into our lives. This is the principle off of which people interact. When we’re children, we are blank slates of knowledge, barely having time to learn language and motor skills. Once we can fathom these, we can move on to the knowledge we need for interacting. Predetermined notions serve as short cuts in spending the time to actually get to know every person. We generalize. It’s more efficient.
Logistically, by this principle, we would categorize every aspect of life that was new and foreign. Just like categorizing people, we organize situations. “This is just like that other time.” “This is nothing like that.” So situations turn into results, and results set founded speculations, and we have returned back to the conditional belief in fate. “I speculate that fate will speculate.”
We think too much. We are what we do. When we pen up and filter our speech, our thoughts fester as their own entity, and we become the person hiding that entity and the adjacent veneer. We are embarrassed and introverted if we don’t say what we think. If we don’t acknowledge the great things we’ve done, we become feeble in our evolving identities. Likewise, if we don’t embrace our mistakes we will never learn from them.
This is a mistake. A cultural mistake is accessing this knowledge before accessing stereotypes. I can list off stereotypes like they were apparent truths because of how engrained they have become in my knowledge. It took me two precursory sentences to list four solid generalizations, and it took up until now for me to realize people can waste life living inside their heads. We are trained. We are trained like dogs. It’s not our fault. We were born into it. We are victims of circumstance. Don’t persecute us. Instead, propagate the helpless dogs that can’t help themselves. Grant pity and freedom to the mindless soldiers who follow the man in front of them. Let the domestics into the wild because they told you to. Because they feel like it. They don’t know any better.
We’re little kids running away to the tree house in the back yard. We’ll come back inside when it gets too wet and cold. Mom will take our blankets, hot out of the drier and warm us up in the house of social contracts and stereotypes. We got hungry and lonely in the tree house where we keep our porn and our weed. Where we keep the little hedonistic bits of freedom that prove our recklessness and our self-granted liberty to break the social contracts, but only if it’s a socially acceptable infringement. We don’t get caught.
And I’ve now become a bitch because I pointed it out so impolitely. I brought it up in a light that was unflattering. Use a warmer lamp. Put a cheese cloth over the bulb and light from the left. Better. Softer. Less shocking. Less infuriating. I am not haughty. Let me prove it to you. Let me prove how well I fit into society’s ideal of civic duty. Let me prove how submissive I can really be. I will go home tonight and eat food that my dad paid for with money from a corporation that wishes his job could be done by a computer because a repairman is more efficient than a sales representative. I will take a shower in a bathroom that my mom decorated for my brother and me so that beige was properly represented in all intensities and gradients. I will then go to work and put myself through an experience that I pseudo-tolerate for money I only need for temporary satiation, and that fiscal happiness will probably not outweigh the time I spent at work escaping to a fantasy of an ex-boyfriend forgiving me.
Exiting Plato’s cave is the acceptance to live deliberately. The flaw is that we leave the cave, but get thrown back into it for the sake of society. We’ve seen the light, but only on a day trip. Where we live is in the cave, with the dim fire burning and abridged lives churning for the sake of simplicity.
Draft:3
Does knowledge define conscious identity? If so, it is also the incidental catalyst for competition, insecurity, and prejudice.
We adopt the faculty of “knowing” that everything happens for a reason. When hearts are bleeding and broken after life-affirming failure, we accept destiny as “knowledge.”
“Fate will mend. It was meant to be. Leave it to fate.”
Knowledge is not restricted to truth. Knowledge that mingles in relationships isn’t true. Knowledge that all blacks smoke menthols. Knowledge that all Asians are good at math. Knowledge that all women ‘just need to be loved.’ Knowledge that men are genealogically uncouth. This knowledge plays into our lives because it is the principle of interaction.
Children are blank slates without knowledge, feebly learning language and motor skills. Once we fathom functional basics, we move on to the knowledge of fate and stereotypes. Predetermined notions serve as short cuts in spending the time to actually get to truly know every person. Generalization is more efficient.
Logically applying this principle, we categorize every aspect of life that is unfamiliar or foreign. Situations become results, and results become expectations. Founded anticipation leads us back to our conditional obsession with fate. We use capacity for thought to speculate that fate will speculate. Individuals are defined by actions taken, and our only action is thinking too much about too little.
Primary actions become the penning up and filtering of our opinions- our only voice- and thus we are defined as the individuals who restrict individual voice. We, the censored. We, the embarrassed; we, the introverted. Without acknowledgment of self, our evolving identities deteriorate. Likewise, if we don’t embrace our mistakes, we will never learn.
Truth is a mistake. This is a mistake.
A mistake is truth being spoken instead of engrained stereotypes. It took two precursory sentences to list four generalizations in culture, and up until this moment to tell you that people will waste parts of their lives living inside censorship. That sentence was a mistake.
Like dogs, we are trained. Blameless and born into it, we are victims of reality. Don’t persecute us. Propagate the helpless dogs that cannot help themselves. Grant pity and freedom to the mindless soldiers who follow the man in front. Let the domestics into the wild because they feel like it, and don’t know any better. We are little kids running away to the tree house in the back yard. Mother will take our blankets hot out of the dryer and warm us again in the house of social contracts and general knowledge. Hungry and lonely in the tree house where we keep our porn and our weed, the little hedonistic bits of freedom that prove recklessness and self-granted liberty to violate the social contracts. A socially acceptable infringement. We don’t get caught.
I apologize for the impolite and unfiltered opinion. I bring truth into a light that is unflattering. Use a warmer lamp. Put a cheesecloth over the bulb and light from the left. Better. Softer. Less shocking. Less provocative. Now it looks like we know what we’re doing.
Let’s go home. We know home. There, we can eat food paid for by a company that would rather Father was a machine, because a repairman is cheaper than a sales representative. Let us take a shower in the bathroom that Mother decorated with all properly represented intensities and gradients of beige. Then, a pseudo-tolerable job that will only give financial and temporary satiation.
Exiting Plato’s cave is the acceptance to Live Deliberately. We’ve seen the garish light of truth, but only on indulgent day trips. Society’s call seduces us back to the cave of guesses and reckless acceptance, with the dim fire behind us, burning, and abridged lives churning for the sake of simplicity.
Draft 4:
“Fate will mend. It was meant to be. Leave it to fate."
Does knowledge define conscious identity? If so, it is also the incidental catalyst for competition, insecurity, and prejudice.
We adopt the faculty of “knowing” that everything happens for a reason. When hearts are bleeding and broken after life-affirming failure, we accept destiny as “knowledge.”
Knowledge is not restricted to truth. Knowledge that mingles in relationships isn’t true. Knowledge that all blacks smoke menthols. Knowledge that all Asians are good at math. Knowledge that all women ‘just need to be loved.’ Knowledge that men are genealogically uncouth. This knowledge plays into our lives because it is the principle of interaction.
Children are blank slates without knowledge, feebly learning language and motor skills. Once we fathom functional basics, we move on to the knowledge of fate and stereotypes. Predetermined notions serve as short cuts in spending the time to actually get to truly know every person. Generalization is more efficient.
Logically applying this principle, we categorize every aspect of life that is unfamiliar or foreign. Situations become results, and results become expectations. Founded anticipation leads us back to our conditional obsession with fate. We use capacity for thought to speculate that fate will speculate. Individuals are defined by actions taken, and our only action is thinking too much about too little.
Primary actions become the penning up and filtering of our opinions- our only voice- and thus we are defined as the individuals who restrict individual voice. We, the censored. We, the embarrassed; we, the introverted. Without acknowledgment of self, our evolving identities deteriorate. Likewise, if we don’t embrace our mistakes, we will never learn.
Truth is a mistake. This is a mistake.
A mistake is truth being spoken instead of engrained stereotypes. It took two precursory sentences to list four generalizations in culture, and up until this moment to tell you that people will waste parts of their lives living inside censorship. That sentence was a mistake.
Like dogs, we are trained. Blameless and born into it, we are victims of reality. Don’t persecute us. Propagate the helpless dogs that cannot help themselves. Grant pity and freedom to the mindless soldiers who follow the man in front. Let the domestics into the wild because they feel like it, and don’t know any better. We are little kids running away to the tree house in the back yard. Mother will take our blankets hot out of the dryer and warm us again in the house of social contracts and general knowledge. Hungry and lonely in the tree house where we keep our porn and our weed, the little hedonistic bits of freedom that prove recklessness and self-granted liberty to violate the social contracts. A socially acceptable infringement. We don’t get caught.
I apologize for the impolite and unfiltered opinion. I bring truth into a light that is unflattering. Use a warmer lamp. Put a cheesecloth over the bulb and light from the left. Better. Softer. Less shocking. Less provocative. Now it looks like we know what we’re doing.
Let’s go home. We know home. There, we can eat food paid for by a company that would rather Father was a machine, because a repairman is cheaper than a sales representative. Let us take a shower in the bathroom that Mother decorated with all properly represented intensities and gradients of beige. Then, a pseudo-tolerable job that will only give financial and temporary satiation.
Exiting Plato’s cave is the acceptance to Live Deliberately. We’ve seen the garish light of truth, but only on indulgent day trips. Society’s call seduces us back to the cave of guesses and reckless acceptance, with the dim fire behind us, burning, and abridged lives churning for the sake of simplicity.