The Williams Vector is the ordinary Cartesian destiny of most affluent
Americans. It is to become, step into the role prepared for you, marry,
reproduce, increase, trade up to bigger & better homes, cars & consumer
items, keep illness at bay for 60 odd years or so, die.
The world shrugs its shoulders, shaking its head sadly. "Maybe he'll do
better in the next life," the world muses, before turning back to the
stars for another round of drinks.
Heh, I'm such a creativity snob. I think that if you're not producing
some kind of creativity, you're a shaved ape, lodged in space, on an
existential treadmill. But even the most ordinary, I've got to believe,
create something. This is a point of dogma for me, and much of the time
I see it, though not right this second. Plus I also kinda like to have
someone against whom I'm sharply contrasted -- to know what I intend
not to do in life, which will hopefully somehow sharpen up the doo-doo
I intend to do in life.
Doesn't really work that way, though -- annoyingly, you have to posit
something before you can find out if it's real or not. In other words,
you can't just identify everything you hate in life and expect this
will back you out a heretofore unknown door into a shining world all of
light, milk, boobies, television, biscuits, slaves, seas, honey,
butter, candles, and bubbles in the Soaphouse.
Due to the way the world works, the more you identify with what you
hate, the more you resemble it. I usually find that I only grow when I
try the things I used to hate.
And one of the biggest reasons not to be judgemental is that you
eventually stereotype everything and use that to tie off and tourniquet