There are times I enjoy being objectified, and I feel that many others feel the same, but are afraid to admit it. I feel that even just by existing as separate beings, we all become objects to each other, and this ultimately feeds our fascination with sex and death. I think many people are terrified of acknowledging that they are titillated by conflict when it comes to their actual lives, and are thus incapable of learning from the inevitable bullshit that occurs within them. Most people are quick to steadfastly proclaim their abhorrence of “drama” unless it’s contained within a work of “art” that can easily be held and observed comfortably outside the boundaries of the self. I find myself becoming increasingly restless when enforcing a model of reality which separates “art” and “self.” However, it seems most people tend to favor this model, as rejecting it can have some stark implications, such as the realization of all creative output as being essentially equal in value to waste. I am ok with this, and as such, have learned to recognize and appreciate the pleasures of being an object. I see many people spending vast amounts of their time fighting to further assert their identity, only to wallow in their own shame later when they are finally forced to confront the ever-changing nature of the world and their inevitably changing place within it. Many people are so determined to define themselves in juxtaposition to their surroundings, they cannot even bear the thought of not being the constant subject. Ergo, they fetishize objectification and attach stigmas to behaviors which promote or encourage it, especially when it comes to large-scale facets of identity like sexuality. People are addicted to the eustress of being cast as the underdog hero of their own story, which causes them to subconsciously create the context necessary for the constant “drama” in their lives. It helps them cope with the fact that they have no idea what the hell they are, or what a self even is, or what time and space even are, much less any meaning or purpose of anything. It is comforting to “know” about these things, so we structure our lives around constant definition and classification of all phenomena. In other words, we constantly objectify everything to reassure ourselves of the validity of our own subjective experience. I, for one, do not feel a need for this reassurance; the chaos of nature thrills me, and as such, I delight in consciously and actively participating in the creation/destruction processes of my selves as they, like everything else in nature, constantly shift. I find it difficult to be offended by being objectified when I cannot even say what a self is. As such, I find great fun in being the object of someone’s judgement, be it kind or insulting. How are people supposed to connect with one another without first recognizing the other person as being separate from themselves, the subject? “Drama” in a social context need not always be perceived as negative. On the contrary; it’s what we live for. As the subjects of our own experiences, we only know the beauty of life’s dramas through the total objectification of everything (and everyone) outside of ourselves.
It is insanely assumptive to speak on behalf of a group that accounts for half of the world’s population, and even more assumptive to speak for a group to which you do not find yourself identified. All groups are comprised of individuals, and until we start treating people as such, we will all continue to oppress each other in ways we may never even come to understand. Identity itself seems to be a psychosocial construct, and knowledge itself seems to be but a theory. We play with the power of definition often; we should constantly ask ourselves if we are using that power to further articulate our differences, or, rather, to create new realities wherein these differences are inconsequential.
Please excuse any usage of “is” or “should” for the sake of brevity.
Needing above all
Silence and warmth, we produce
Brutal cold and noise.