When I absorb the news in the morning, I become conflicted. The dormant urges toward righteousness and rebellion boil to the surface and I am a one-man harpoon of humanitarian justice. Quickly following this He-Man esque transformation, is an analysis of my life in America. After this process reaches its conclusion I remain motionless while I am filled with misplaced guilt. Guilt for not being able to leave my xbox behind in favor of a skill set that might help feed a few people and guilt for not knowing who my senator is or much of anything revolving around politics. The whole experience is detestable and inevitable.
A collision becomes a mixture and now I’m a regretful son of a society I so vigorously attempted to separate myself from. At this point, any interest in music or comedy seems overshadowed by a duty to human rights I don’t necessarily believe in. My psyche latches onto the raised fists of my younger convictions. “Damn the man! We are free!” We are not free.
Humanity is shackled to its passions. Once ignited, they burn longer than the original transgression lasts in the memory. New atrocities are committed out of irrational anger for something forgotten a generation ago and that new assault is what perpetuates the conflict. Eventually, it becomes clear: We’re killing each other because we want to.
How does our lovable hero cope with the suffering? He writes jokes and songs.