Today I looked at my stream. I do that less and less, and a thicker and thicker filter bubble is required for me to tolerate the frustration caused by the feeling of impotence being unheeded creates.
I feel too deeply and I apologize for the disservice this does to my readers if any and the hypocrisy and paradox of this sentiment, since I’m basically whining about not being read while I explain why I’m reading less and less.
If enough of the world cared to collectively pay my electric bill so I didn’t have to beg the government for an insanity label and a check or sentence my family to wage slavery as an alternative to eating a bullet, perhaps I wouldn’t feel this way.
But to date not counting what amounts to a clerical error and the soaring price of bitcoin, my lifetime income from my writing and my desperate and near constant effort to engage with humanity and participate in solving its problems and addressing it’s suffering is about 40$. (Not counting the hosting for this site graciously donated to me by one of my few readers, and now friend. So I guess in that sense the writing is self sustaining at least if not author sustaining.)
The phrase dollar vote comes to mine, and if that’s where I stand in the mind of the mass of humanity I genuinely want to help, then I must be doing an atrocious job indeed.
Is my writing and the desire to help that spawned it really so worthless to you all? It must be. Conversely, is the good done by the CEO of Goldman Sachs for example really so staggering? It must be. Has 50 Cent done more for humanity than Norman Borlaug? He must have.
To all children. My apologies for my failure. I swore when I was a kid that when I grew up I’d save other kids. And I meant all of them. All of you. But I can’t convince these people, these adults, of even the most obvious truths. I feel like I could hit them with a brick and they would still deny the existence of bricks. I guess like all my adult peers I’ll have to take part in passing the buck.
