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Tired of Rage

Do you think it takes the same amount of energy to pretend that everything’s fine and dandy as it does to recognize the fact that everything surrounding you sucks ass? I don’t know. I wish I did.

I came to a weird, malformed realization last night: I’m tired of hating everything. It’s not so much a softening worldview, an inability or disinterest in mocking anything, or the realization that expressing my rage (or mockery) doesn’t actually change anything. Venting makes me feel better, but the real source of the issue is: why can’t I just blithely accept the bullshit that’s spoonfed to me, like so many others do? The disparity comes from the two extremes mentioned above: both suggest that the people involved are aware of the problems with themselves and the world surrounding them, but each chooses a different way to deal.

But what about the middle of the bell curve — the people who don’t know anything and don’t give a shit? Why can’t I be like one of those people? I don’t run around learning new things to gain knowledge — my thirst for information comes almost solely from a place of rage. I want to learn as much as I can about a certain subject so I can spout anger and disappointment as knowledgeably as possible. That can’t be healthy, can it? Shouldn’t I just get pissed off about something, vent about it in ignorance, and move on? I’ve started to obsess about people and things that piss me off, dedicating my life to fueling the rage instead of dedicating it to more worthwhile pursuits like masturbation or steady employment.

Even though it isn’t true (yet), I feel like it’s affecting my creative pursuits. On the one hand, the government conspiracy in play in Dying Proof comes from a place of discontent and sarcasm, in which the agents chasing them are portrayed as little more than bored corporate drones with guns, but on the other, the brother-sister relationship in the script has received a surprising amount of praise because of its sincerity. There’s no irony, no sarcasm, no undercurrent of rage and disappointment (even if those are emotions I feel toward my real sister). Just a pair of siblings working through their issues, against a largely symbolic backdrop of gunplay.

That’s that, and the script is a departure for me in almost every conceivable way, with the only real through-line to the rest of my work being characters frustrated at their inability to change their lots in life. Unlike most of my characters, their inability to change isn’t caused by merely getting stuck in ruts (with their central conflict being breaking out of the rut). Everything they’ve ever known is obliterated, and they’re forced to adopt a new lifestyle as they go into hiding, unable to change for fear of getting caught. They’re characters who have desires but really can’t change, but they would if they could.

In On Deadly Ground, Forrest Taft asks, “What does it take to change the essence of a man?” and Big Mike answers, “Time.” It has to take more than that, though — I have the desire, Lord knows I have the time, but I don’t even know where to start. Stop obsessively checking Diablo Cody’s blog for the sole purpose of getting infuriated by her existence? That might be a good start, actually. But in order to start avoiding things that piss me off, I have to turn blinders on, which is counterintuitive to my nature. Could I start trying to teach myself about things I actually like and care about that don’t piss me off? I think it’s a little more than that. If I want to change the essence of a man, I need to break out of my own rut, just as I’ve encouraged my fictional characters to do, and alter my world until I’m surrounded by testaments to joy and happiness instead of anger and disappointment.

It’s a brave new world.

Posted by Stan on May 20, 2008 11:01 AM  | Permalink | Stories of Pain and Humiliation | Digg It