IdealOFF.net

How often are we satisfied with our lives? Just don’t try now, rolling your eyes, frantically looking for a refutation of the inexorable “almost never.” Because we are all in this. The phrase of my beloved Sergei Shnurov immediately comes to mind: “...This country of the dissatisfied by definition: People are born with a sour expression on their faces. In the summer, bitch, it’s hot, in the winter, it’s fucking cold. It’s always not the same.”

So here it is. The point here is not in geography, politics or inflation indices, but in the vain search for an ideal. Which, by the way, like the fern flower, no one has ever seen. But there will always be someone who knows, a person who has seen a person, who has heard about the person who found him.

The desire for ideality in itself is to some extent flawed. After all, it is essentially nothing more than a desire to become universal, standard, generally accepted. And therefore less valuable than the original.

And the whole point is that the human population wants to achieve opposite goals: to be ideal while maintaining individuality. But how is this possible if the desire to idealize, for example, oneself, is just a desire to get closer to the standard, to suit the majority.

And then it started. Standards beget standards. A closed circle of views. Moreover, strangers. And imposed. Well, for example, from the last one. A portrait of thick-browed, plump-lipped blimps was imposed on the men.

And what can I say: I myself am already beginning to skeptically evaluate my S/M floating on the fifth point. And sometimes (of course, when no one sees) I do a duckface and... go nuts.

Well, that's it. Got distracted. And every self-respecting male should have this portrait hanging. Preferably in a visible place. Well, at least in fantasies. Because everyone likes it, which means he should too. Even if it’s not very good yet. And even if the male himself is not very good yet. Because these are standard requirements of a standard society. Those. Modern men practically do not have to form their own taste. Unless you choose a color range and vary in height. Yes, by and large, and young ladies don’t need to rack their brains - the portrait of the “ideal” is known: “Yes? - Yes. No? No. Go wander.”

The desire for ideality in itself is to some extent flawed. After all, it is essentially nothing more than a desire to become universal, standard, generally accepted. And therefore less valuable than the original.

Standard people (who religiously believe in the cult of the ideal, but for some reason constantly strive to prove this dogma of theirs) deliberately weed out their own kind based on the degree of deviation from the ideal axis. And the worst thing is that it’s not only the external that gets screened out. Witnesses of the ideal are ready to publicly snort, whisper and even point a finger at someone whose interests and way of life look different. But here, you know, we must give them credit: they do some serious sanitation work, after which truly valuable people come out of the crowd. And they stand out precisely because of their unique and original thinking, their ability to maintain themselves in conditions of total upgrade.

Just don’t think that I am against progress, science and industry. I am against overdose. And everyone enjoys wishes every minute of their lives. I am firmly against living someone else’s life, wanting other people’s desires, and amateurish daubing on top of an imperishable masterpiece.

Having already lived some part of my life, I was convinced from my own experience that the desire for a single standard is most often dictated by the desire to “do.” like..." and "look like...". But with almost a hundred percent probability we cannot “feel like” and be someone else.

I'm sure of this because I tried. Because I still don’t give up these painful attempts. Because sometimes I eat my brains out with a teaspoon in search of imperfections. But I'm struggling. And I wish you not to give up.