No! Discourse is exactly the mechanism of our demise. Discussion leads to intermixing of ideologies which in turn causes transmutation of actions, (which in and of itself is active in origin and occurrence) slowly accelerating the entropy of the universe.
I dare to argue that it will be those who speak, and, maybe more grotesquely, listen to other’s speech whom will be barred from the table of Valhalla and cast into Helheim. I raise my fist and proclaim, “Underlings, keep your ears plugged and tongue betwixt your teeth lest to spit on the shoes of those who defy the gods and the men who stand for the gods!”
In what ways do you feel your individuality being smothered by the herd?
It is funny you should bring up individuality in opposition with the herd. As I see it individuality is the herd. Without herdiness there would be no individuality. It is the group of people which makes each and every member of that group an individual.
If you were the only speck of nothingness on earth rather than part of a community which is uncountable and still somehow insignificant, then you would no longer be an individual; you’d be a collection of smaller beings, that is your cells. The same thing could happen with your cells and atoms, atoms and quarks, quarks and the expanse of other meaningless universes within them.
And while this lack of individuality due to your collective nature is still truthful in our current reality, it is not so apparent due to the fact that we have a collection of collections of insignificance.
So be thankful for the herd, and your individuality, both of which keep you from being a plaything tied to strings held by the gods.
Does the certitude of what we see shackle us to a set of events that uncaring gods ordained eons ago, or is even the existence of our own bodies a tenuous illusion?
You see, that is not a question you ask, but an answer.
Argue either a) that Alterrailgard was doomed to his uncertainty by the blasphemous deeds of his father, and his father before him, and that therefore, any faith in human responsibility is a foolish superstition; or b) that it is not only the fragility of our fragility that should distress us, but that we must go further to fear even the fragility of the fragility of our fragility, and so on even to higher orders.
I know what you are doing Collegian. Do not think that I am unaware. I know your tricks, “News”paper. You think I am ignorant of the magiks of old, lost to the eons of dry erosion. The names. THE NAMES you wish to gather. But you cannot have them. NOT EVEN ONE. The chosen ones. Ha! Marked for slaughter you wish to see them. They will rise. In the dirt they are, the prophecy speaks it. But in eons of eons, when your evil hands stretch out between the stars they will rise! The Collegian empire will fall. You cannot change that. Demise is certain; you can only slow its journey.
Tell a joke about death.
Find a potato, and strip down to your knickers (these must happen simultaneously). Walk backwards to the nearest full length mirror. Turn around and press the potato up against the glass. Harder … HARDER! Crush its tiny soul. Cry because the potato’s death is meaningful while yours will not be.
Discuss. I must discuss. But what is there to discuss? Shall I discuss what I had to eat this morning, or the weather, like two old ladies riding the bus together? Perhaps I should discuss current events, but for what purpose? How will I benefit from understanding and discussing the sociopolitical climate in Yemen or the Ukraine, aside from appearing worldly to my contemporaries? And why would I try to impress them, if that’s all it takes to do so?
I’m going to be honest with you, reader. I’m only writing this to fulfil an arbitrary word count set by my editor. Oh, look, I just wrote more. And then some more.
“Oh, look how lazy this piece is,” you think to yourself. “I bet he thinks he’s clever, breaking the fourth wall and writing directly toward us, the readers.”
You may think I’m lazy, unmotivated. You may even look down on me, secretly feeling better about your own life. But how many times have you simply muddled through an assignment at work like I am now? How often have you let your general apathy thwart your ambitions? How many opportunities have you let slip because of a more immediate desire to watch Netflix and eat candy? Here’s a fun challenge: next week, compare your current self to the person you thought you would be by this point in your life.
Oh look, I just wrote more words.
I am coming painfully close to self-awareness now. Am I just a product of my own laziness? Could I have achieved more if I had really put my mind to it, if I had squashed my instinct to do as little work as possible?
Or worse, perhaps this is all I was ever meant to be. Perhaps even to dream of greatness is presuming too much about my capacity for personal achievement. Is it worse to be mediocre by nature, or by concerted effort?
All I have left are questions and self doubt. But at least my word count has been reached.