In a station of the Metro...
Ezra Pound wrote a two-line poem about the uniformity of mass socity (Everyone who was in 220 last year knows what I'm talkin' about). I recently re-read it and instead of recognizing the uniformity, I saw it in a different light. I saw the futility of individuality. As of now, I'm a "petal on a wet, black bough"... There's nothing that everyone knows about me that really separates me from the average person... I'm slightly above average in smarts, can play a few instruments, mediocre acting abilities, and can make funny sounds... that's about what almost everyone sees in me. Perhaps its because that is the face I've put on, to meet all the other faces (It all comes back to Prufrock...) Maybe I can break the mold by doing something that no one does nowadays, being honest. But People, in genereal, don't take kindly to honesty. Be miserable and self-satisfied or be seemingly happy but internally depressed... the choices that everyone has to make in their life. All I know is that I have a lot of problems that people don't seem to see because they are Somebody Else's Problem.
Douglass Adams, a satrical writer, explained the idea of an SEP. An SEP works like a filter... peoples' brains filter out what doesn't directly pertain to them, marking it "Somebody Else's Problem." Despite the seemingly absurd nature of this principle, I think that this is much more practiced than people think. When I went to the mall today, I looked at the mail truck in front of the store. Normally, I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but for some reason, I noticed it was parked in front of the handicap ramp. I caught myself writing it off as SEP. I spent my day looking around at SEPs, and realized their prevalence.
At least now I understand why no one offers to help when I'm depressed, its because I'm SEP. It's the mindset that we only live our lives, and only feel what happens to us that causes SEPs to exist. Well, I have problems... Monkeys on my back... skeletons in my closet... bats in my bellfree... and I can't ignore them, I can't write them off as SEPs because they are My Problems. I have only lived this live, and I don't know how to deal with my problems sometimes, but I suppose that I have to ask the people around me, "How does it feel to treat me like you do?" If they gain a sense of self-satisfaction by making a reference to my bloodshot eyes, or my "excess baggage," then Power to them... they have overridden the SEP, to help deal with their problems. Good for them.
Buhbye
Bukuta!
Douglass Adams, a satrical writer, explained the idea of an SEP. An SEP works like a filter... peoples' brains filter out what doesn't directly pertain to them, marking it "Somebody Else's Problem." Despite the seemingly absurd nature of this principle, I think that this is much more practiced than people think. When I went to the mall today, I looked at the mail truck in front of the store. Normally, I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but for some reason, I noticed it was parked in front of the handicap ramp. I caught myself writing it off as SEP. I spent my day looking around at SEPs, and realized their prevalence.
At least now I understand why no one offers to help when I'm depressed, its because I'm SEP. It's the mindset that we only live our lives, and only feel what happens to us that causes SEPs to exist. Well, I have problems... Monkeys on my back... skeletons in my closet... bats in my bellfree... and I can't ignore them, I can't write them off as SEPs because they are My Problems. I have only lived this live, and I don't know how to deal with my problems sometimes, but I suppose that I have to ask the people around me, "How does it feel to treat me like you do?" If they gain a sense of self-satisfaction by making a reference to my bloodshot eyes, or my "excess baggage," then Power to them... they have overridden the SEP, to help deal with their problems. Good for them.
Buhbye
Bukuta!