I don’t care. To say I care about something should indicate something about the way I live my life. To care about something has to manifest itself in some way, and if it didn’t, then it would be understandable for someone to say that I don’t truly care about it. It seems as though it has become such that if one hears another proudly claim care or concern for something, some cause, some person, some movement, then it is entirely fair for one to receive that claim with skepticism, or reluctance. How unfortunate! I should correct myself, I just stated that “it has become such,” as though this were a recent development. I can’t speak to prior generations, I can only speak to mine, although, I can’t give this generation so much credit as to attach this critique exclusively. It would be a wonder as to what we owe this unfortunate habit. We’ve developed a sympathy for a new disposition-the skeptic. Not a skeptic in relation to metaphysical claims, but a skeptic in our social relations. Am I projecting? Surely! Am I projecting my own experience? Or am I projecting my own behavior? Well, I can’t advise you to give me any benefit of the doubt. I care about the environment, but only in so much as I don’t have to change my routine. I care about human rights, I do! But I’ll continue to shop for the cheapest clothes and I’ll continue to buy my Apple products. Do I care about art? Yes I do, as a hobby I suppose. I enjoy being assigned to that typical mentality by friends and strangers alike. So it becomes clear that when I tell you I care, I only care conditionally. Do I care about God? Surely, as a poetic device. I thank him for allowing me to use his controversy as a creative vehicle. Don’t mistake self-expression for devotion. If my family remains intact, then my devotion to God is always vulnerable to a justified scrutiny. Forgive me dear Lord for putting my true care into my earthly relationships, my tangible loved ones. Forgive me for allocating my poetic care for your figure. My care and concern for things outside of myself arrives to that convenient degree that justifies my discussions, my opinions, my creative fits, my protests and complaints, yes it all fits neatly inside my existence. I’ll care about it all until it arrives at my door step, and then I’ll become indignant at it’s irrational presumption that I should truly care about it. How can you not understand that I have priorities! I should restate my dramatic shows of social, ethical, and religious concerns. I don’t care, I merely posture. I suppose that all my lofty enlightened concerns merely answer to my existential concerns. I’ve managed to lay the plight of the world at my feet and appropriate it as I wish. Existence precedes essence, psychology appropriates essence.
We don’t care about anything, we merely posture.
I don’t care about anything, I merely posture.
