I’m going to be all over the map. Bear with me. I need to get these thoughts and emotions out of my system. Relax, this won’t be rant. I’m not in the mood right now, but nobody is. Maybe this’ll be a shellshocked tone poem or something. I don’t know. I just need to put this stuff…somewhere.
Neocons
I try not to demonize people, but as I continue to track their distortions, insults, and out’n’out slander, they seem less and less human. And so do their fans.
I’m tracking this one neocon talk show host. Thanks to a wonky CD burner, I spent the better part of yesterday scanning through 36 hours’ worth of right-wing paralogia and neocon hate speech to catch up on my work for Media Matters.  I feel as if someone’s taken a lead pipe to my soul, man. I haven’t felt so emotionally overwhelmed in a while.
Between shrill diatribes against liberals, Europeans, and Muslims (who are all part of a conspiracy to take over the world apparently; I’ll bet you didn’t know that), grown women call up this one guy’s radio hate-fest to flirt with him and giggle like schoolgirls. Sometimes I flash on that one piece of newsreel footage of a glassy-eyed woman wearing a Jokerfish grin at a Nazi rally. Power is sexy. Oversimplication and unshaking certainty are sexy, I suppose. Maybe even blood is sexy, provided it’s on a sufficiently attractive pair of hands.
To be fair, it’s not just neocons. I’ve seen dysfunctional support systems form up around popular people all the time, throughout the political spectrum. Cults of personality just coagulate around the charismatic person in range, it seems. And yet how often are the objects of such affection good people?  Instant dime-store idolators: Just add Dark Side points.
God, how much of their souls have they surrendered to be so wretched and so proud of it?
RPGs
Doing so much work on role-playing games lately has brought back a feeling I try to avoid. I get wistful, thinking back on those special moments that make those games unique, the sense of empowerment and awe that comes with participating–not just writing or witnessing–in adventures and worlds worthy of legend. Die-hard gamers have war stories of derring-do, mirth, and wonder. You get to invent your own myth. That legendary one-liner just came from you and your friends, not Hollywood. You get to be a hero, to test your wits and abilities, to transcend reality a bit and bond with your buds over pizza at the same time.
I haven’t been able to do that in a long time. Jamie and I have been busy. Even if we weren’t, the only people we know around here clearly aren’t interested in the kind of stuff I want to do. They might try a game if they can meet Qui-Gonn or Data. But that’s it. No desire to explore a new world, meet mythical beings, or show that we have in ourselves to be just as magical.
It’s a sad world when even dreams become the property of the corporate sector.
Trekdom
Speaking of which, I’ve been getting curious about “Enteprise” lately.  Anticipating the season-opener, I started catching up on past eps. It’s just modern Trek again, isn’t it? I didn’t go in expecting Theodore Sturgeon or anything, but it’s all formula. “Cue the interrogation scene. Okay, Big-Bad, gloat at your prisoner. Good.  Cue the hero. Spit in the interrogator’s face in five, four, three, two…good! Cut to camera two.”
I might watch, but I’m at a disadvantage from the start. So far I can see every punch before someone throws it. I suppose this is when someone yells at me for not turning my brain off before the movie starts. I keep getting wake-up calls and apparently it’s disturbing everyone else’s viewing experience.
Depression
I’ve been painfully aware of its presence in my life again, probably from the sheer psychic assault of all the neocon screaming heads. Circumstances haven’t been the easiest either, but to complain or vent about it only invites mockery. Didn’t I know that life was supposed to be so grueling or miserable?
Anger seems to be my first defense against it. That only makes sense. More often than not, depression is what happens when you sit on your emotions for too long. That’s why it’s so exhausting. You had to cut off those power sources, stifling parts of yourself. And anger is a defense mechanism. It’s sadness with a sword and shield. And let’s face it. Anger is more respectable than sadness.
(Is there any wonder we glorify violence? “Hey, Governator, what are the best things in life?” “Kicking girly-men arse.”)
It’s not easy to go out into the outside world, but it’s the only way to feel the wind or the sun on your face. That sounds lame especially here in the land of liquid sunshine. I can’t avoid the truth of it though.
I was reminded of that when I gave a neighbor a misaddressed package meant for them. Nice guy, nice lady. Everyone there shook my hand and thanked me. Even their one-year-old son. When he shook my hand, his hand barely made it around my forefinger. He even had a Spider-Man shirt on. Always a good sign.
I don’t have the time or energy I’d like right now, otherwise I’d be able to do the rounds, say hi to everyone, help people with their writing (always important, if you ask me) and perk a few folks up wherever I can. I just get worn down sometimes.  I wish I had more time.
Not to mention a speeder bike.