"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

24 January 2011

Agents of Chaos

Sabina did not take it well when the tanker rollover a mile from home closed the Road. Oh, but she raged, saying horrifically vicious things about the driver and their family, despite not knowing this cat from Adam, Eve, or Cousin Juan. Hoping for all sorts of nastiness to befall them, beyond, or, perhaps because of the accident.

I suppose I could've been hyper-sensitive and mentioned that friend recently killed in a rollover accident, but I did not. After all, Sabina wanted to get home and was angry about this little bit of chaos. By her own admission, she's a control-freak, and this was a situation beyond that. When one is angry and not getting their way, one is not given to rational thought. I did, however, mention that the reason such things are called accidents is because they are very far from being intentional.

It was chaos. That force of nature, which can strike down out of a clear blue day. Always without warning. The sort of thing that ruins plans. The social construct of reality has sometimes tried to paint this force of nature as evil, or at least mischievous, but that's anthropomorphizing. Forces of nature do not recognize or care about such trivialities as good or evil or even whimsy.

Chaos just is. It can be as horrific as a storm or a terrible accident or mortifying as an especially loud release of flatulence during a time in which decorum dictates control would be in order. Of course, by virtue of chaos, things like control and order are but mere illusions. Jokes. In the hominid context, things that were invented to try and deal with what can sometimes be the horrifying reality that a great deal of things that happen are just a roll of the bones.

Looking for rhyme and reason is merely seeking a pattern, which is something hardwired into the monkey brain from primordial times. Patterns helped the species survive. Chaos, that random break in the pattern, is, was, and still is, terrifying, and, in the end, who likes to be frightened? Thus, the construct was born.

I always liked the term chaotic neutral. I guess because good and evil have never been so cut and dry for me. Perhaps it's wiring, but I tend to notice the shades of Grey. Maybe I'm even drawn toward it. Black and white is not only fiction, but it's rather boring.

Of course, there's another construct I've observed; the chaotic types being the bad guys. The sociopaths and scary people. Well, in the stories, they get the cooler costumes, neat weapons and powers, and better lines, but those are just stories. I've encountered cats who would say they are agents of chaos and I find myself stifling a laugh, because they've been hoodwinked by the same stories; all trying to be spooky and disorderly, most often in the hope of not being fucked with and perhaps scoring with something warm and soft that's sucker by the bad-whatever facade. After all, as I stated, chaos is a force of nature. One might as well go and say they're an agent of the wind, and the only time that might be even somewhat believable is when a plate of beans is involved.

There I go with the flatulence again. How puerile of me, I realize. Although, I think I have a point. You don't hear of someone claiming to be a disciple of oxygen or a follower of space time, for example.

I have mentioned before that I truly came to accept this fact of the cosmos by the time I was twenty-four. It became a very real part of my way of thinking and being. A religious individual might say I converted, but how does one convert to a force of nature? Something that just is? One cannot be an adherent to the universe in that context, I don't think. I find it better to say I accepted chaos.

Perhaps that makes me chaotic in the social construct of reality, and I shouldn't go bragging about such things. After all, those who dig on chaos are the villains and other forms of sociopath, or at least that's what the stories, created and perpetuated by the social construct of reality, say. And who are we to question the social construct of reality?

Anyone who knows me or has been following along at home might have figured out my answer to that inquiry. I accepted chaos long ago in all its terror and beauty. Living by the rolls of the bones can be simultaneously annoying, frightening, and liberating. If that makes me chaotic and invites the accusation of sociopath, then pleased to meet you and hope you guessed my name. 

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