You Do Not Like Me
by Jonathan Quince
Thursday, August 10, 2006 14:30:57
I have no friends.
Strictly speaking, that statement is false: I do have friends, few and select as they are. And in a looser metaphysical sense, I have plenty of friends: Principles, axioms, logic, science, art, beauty, &c. But in terms of like-mindedness, my “friends” are indeed quite the rarity; and for reasons of both logical consistency and my hope to retain sanity, those who are not at all like-minded to me in principle are likely to engage me in mutual dislike. Either they make sure of it, or I make sure of it.
Most people write me off out-of-hand. This is rather intentional on my part: By overtly exposing aspects of myself that are at odds with ambient society, I am assured that I shan’t have to waste my time on people who make fallacious snap judgments. I don’t write to shock 1—on the contrary, for how low that would be!—but I do most certainly fail to hide ideas of the sort typically spoken of in hushed whispers. People see aspects of me that they would accept iff they first knew me very well in other aspects; and from that, they run away. The primary benefit of this arrangement is the freedom it affords me, with the people-filter as an ancillary bonus.
Naturally, there is plenty hidden in plain sight to suggest the thinking person take pause for a second look. My writing, by and large, is of good literary merit; my presentation is neither crass nor thoughtless; and anybody who takes notice of these characteristics will delve deeper to find the context and the sincere purity with which I craft my words. Those are the people whom I seek; and the rest will bounce harmlessly off the surface, off on their merry ways to oblivion.
On seeing my home-page, for example, prudish Republicans will see sex and anti-Semitic Democrats will see Zionism. Neither shall look further than that. The same goes for almost every visitor: I have something to displease everybody, right there on Page One. (Mostly, it’s the sex.) I have arrived at this arrangement in a fashion more organic than planned, but the results are all the better for it.
The issue, however, runs far deeper than that. I am one of those few people who truly could not ever be a part of any ideological group founded by somebody else. Believe me, I tried that in my youth. Miserable failure was met as kismet, and many a night was spent trying to cleanse my soul of guilt by association. And if ever I enter your activist troupe, you shall, in the end, regret it far more than I.
You do not want me in my organization. I will raise hell upon your contradictions and bring your ideological house of cards crashing down about your ears. My tolerance of corruption approaches the limit of zero; my political tact is nearly non-existent; and although I may attempt such on the occasions when my brain is less than fully functioning, I vehemently eschew allies of convenience: I may stand with an outside group in a limited sense when a single issue is of world-shaking import; other than that, I have been burnt too many times to fall into that trap again (or so wise I would like to believe myself).
Someday, perhaps, I shall have a truly developed .org
of my own; and I shall gather the like-minded unto me, that we may change
the world together. Until that time, I stand proudly at the pinnacle
of ideological loneliness. 2
Yet returning to the original issue, I’d like to talk about you, dear reader. Whether you happened upon Sopef years ago or you are a new arrival, you are weighing in your mind whether to stay, to read, to mayhap get in touch with your not-so-humble author. Whether you have found your first impressions pleasing or otherwise, I have for you but one piece of advice:
You do not like me, and I do not like you. If neither aforegoing lemma holds true, then greetings, fellow traveler! May we henceforth enjoy each others’ fine (and lonesome) company. Otherwise, might I say: There are billions of web pages on the Internet. Most of them are crap. You will find many of them to your liking, so I suggest you leave this place and seek drier, more-wilted pastures.
1 Well, not usually; in my weaker moments, the temptation is too great to resist. ;-)
2 Compulsively as I give credit, that was an Ayn Rand reference.