An explanation of my hypoanthropism, and while I’m it, a bold “fuck you” to your sweet slavery

I don’t hate people. I hate situations. I hate confluences.

People are not worth my hate. In fact, I am tormented by a resounding indifference (and disinterest) to most people. I am not a misanthrope. I am a hypoanthrope. I feel very little emotion for people, I feel almost no kinship with their plight and their stupid ambitions and yearnings. I have nothing to do with most people and I prefer it that way. I used to construe this as a sort of “hate by absence” but it is not hate. It is apathy.

When I say I hate something, it is assuredly not a person. It is not you, it is not him, it is not her. It is IT.

I hate it.

I hate fate, I hate the way reality unfolds because I can do nothing about it, I cannot deter it. I’m awed in the face of helplessness. I lose control, I feel fury. And what does hate come from other than fury?

I hate that I cannot control things, mostly, myself.

I hate the Ego.

It’s apparent. Everything I write is ego-bashing.

I hate the Ego because it is what separates and alienates us from nature. Nature is bliss, it is GOD, it is where we find equilibrium.

Ego is the particularly human trait that destroys all in its path. Ego is an elixir of our modern, complacent age. Ego is why we’ve shrouded our existence in artifice. It’s why we have “Game” and it’s why we have mortgages and credentials, it’s why this world is nothing but utter vain human bullshit and it’s why a class of obscenely wealthy people have a stranglehold over our liberty.

Ego is simply put. I thought of the penultimate definition:

Ego is our self-perpetuated need to impress ourselves.

This is all that the Ego is. It is slavery. Indentured servitude.

Recognizing as such the perilous implosive qualities of the Ego, I expect that I would be rendered immune to its call. For the most part, I am immune. I pride myself on my spectacularly atypical urban lifestyle and dis-motivational traits as contrasted with most of the materialistic madmen (and women) I work with and share the road with on a daily basis. My commute is infused with madness and a sense of thoughtless rushing. My timbre of life is self-imposed; it is spartan and subject to ridicule. There is nothing modern society can entice me with other than some super high speed data lines.

Yet, in spite of this, I find myself ensnared to my petty Ego urges once in a while. And it’s inevitable that when I act from these same Egotistical motives, I am surely bound to be shamed and humiliated. I should know better. I should never live this life solely to feed my superficial cravings. If I don’t step back and examine my motives, I am sure to make a mistake. Mistakes are humbling.

There are moments I witness helplessly as I act entirely from an Egotistical perspective and I feel and look like absolute shit for it afterwards.

Impressing myself impresses no one.