Rhetorical Cul-De-Sac


Brent Allan Johnson, Editor-at-large

I am a pseudo-intellectual, and I’d like to apologize for the junk I’ve been feeding you. I know nothing about breakfast, the meaning of life, pop culture, romance, or death. I am very sorry for filling your head with junk.


It’s a real problem I have. The preaching, I mean. You can make anything sound pretty with enough words, and I’m fairly literate.


Another problem I have is chronic introversion. Being horribly afraid of random conversation leaves one mute, to a degree, and being mute gives you one option: listening. That’s all I do all day. Listen. I hear an awful lot of useless garbage, at least it’s useless to me.


There are plenty of other preachers like me. In fact, everyone’s a preacher. Everyone fills everyone else’s head with nonsense and rambling, and none of you apologize for it! At least I bother to apologize for my inaccuracies and my ramblings.


The truth—or rather, what I believe the truth to be—is that everyone has an agenda, even if they don’t realize it. People obsess over one thing or another. Any problem, they think, can be related to their obsession. 


And it’s fine to have an obsession. I mean, I’m obsessed with death, and whatnot. It absolutely dominates my every day, to the point that it makes me a drag to talk to. That’s the problem, you see? When we focus on one thing and shape our personalities around it, we become a drag!


Yes, I think all our obsessions are important—well, maybe most of them are important—and they can lead to stimulating conversations, but when it gets to the point where I can accurately predict what we’ll be talking about today, I find it hard to open my mouth (this is not true. I cannot shut up to save my life).


The only objectivity is subjectivity, but of course, that argument in itself is subjective. Some people’ll argue drugs are bad, but would we have The Beatles without them?


People hate being simplified. I mean, they really hate it. They hate the concept of being predictable. They want to show that they’re well past their monkey ancestors in intellect, so we try to become knowledgeable about something. But we are just predictable little monkeys. If man was put in an alien zoo, we’d just be another attraction that the kids love and the adults have seen a thousand times before.


Does being special really matter, though? Throughout your life, I’m sure you’ve been told that you are special and that your life matters. The truth—or again, what I perceive the truth to be—is that you aren’t special or different. Every thought you’ve had has been thought before and will be thought again. Life is one big rhetorical cul-de-sac. So it goes.


Over the past year, all of my articles have been about whether or not life is worth living. Now that we know I’ve probably been wrong, does that mean life isn’t worth living? I dunno, that’s up for interpretation.


Anyway, au revior, mon ami!