Fools, a ramble.
As I grew up, I often only realized that my illusions had been shattered (melted? eroded? robbed blind?) by noticing that other people still have the same illusions. Pop music is good…Alternative music is good…franchise sequels are good…fast food is good…fashion is important…makeup will make you more attractive…pretending to be cool can actually make you cool…being smart is stupid…I’m the center of the universe…you know, little illusions like that.
Another illusion is gone: A fool is something special, something unique, something outrageous.
Hee hee hee hee hee…
Fools are funny. I’ve often played the fool, and I’ve often been laughed at. But taking foolishness seriously invests a fool with power, whereas laughing at a fool provides nothing but a good giggle.
Sarcasm isn’t the same thing, and neither is cynicism: both sarcasm and cynicism contain too much seriousness. Mockery is a kind of obsession with foolishness, and it creeps into you and makes you a little bit like the thing you mock.
Sometimes laughter isn’t enough. Some kinds of foolishness require seriousness — the kinds of foolishness that cause pain and suffering. (You’d punish a child for hitting her playmate; you wouldn’t put her down, mock her, or tell her that she’d never be anything but a bully.) Even then…a little laughter couldn’t hurt.
I will suffer fools lightly.
The first time I laughed at a fool with an open heart…Thinking back…yes. When we drove past that anti-abortion march in front of Planned Parenthood and I burst out laughing. Had the window rolled down…what fools, packed in double rows on that busted-up sidewalk, so careful to stay off the grass, and so quiet that I’m sure they could hear me a block away. That was…a month ago?
It wasn’t until today that I realized that that illusion was gone. I was reading the news and some commentary thereon. The fool of the day…was a fool! Who could believe it! What a fool! (On the other hand, most of the national-level republican party in the news deserves a good spanking. See pain and suffering reference.)
If I were a tarot card, I’d be a fool, and I’d just like to say that all these fools touting these minor asses as fools, well! Dress me in robes and a pointy hat and call me the pope. Some people have too much fun exaggerating on a slow news day and clearly should burn in hell.