In addition to Independence Day, the 4th of July is a day when I'm reminded of my inability to reconnect with those whom I've lost touch, either by accident or revolt. It's not just an inability, it's by no means a deficiency; it feels more deliberate, but maybe the result of an imbalance between my enthusiasm and my anxiety.
I think independence has an additional sinister side that's rarely recognized. Independence, freedom, asserts itself as being out of bounds to another's will, this must also imply a rejection of consequences, or at least the option. By declaring independence, rather than interdependence, we may be a benevolent philanthropist, throwing checks and change in whichever direction we see fit, or we may be a violent criminal who rejects his sentence because he can, thus never being afforded the solitary opportunity to reflect on those crimes.
What have we become in our nations independence? We're a wandering giant who defines the bad guy as whoever makes us angry at the moment, and we refuse to be compromised with consequences because we don't have to. In our independence we've only grown to be hated the world over. "Hulk smash Nagasaki! Hulk smash Baghdad!"
Declare Indie-pendence! Don't let them do that to you! I'm tired of young people and hipster style. Style is not just empty, it's worse than that. Style is designed and manufactured to conceal people's emptiness. Style is how lazy people feign quality, and they're so great in number that it perverts the culture. Why bother to play an instrument or learn about music when you can just look like you're in a band? Why read the book, why go to class? Fucking people. And they do this thing where they don't discriminate between fashion and social conscience; if you look in their closets, you'll see recycling and liberal politics hung up between their skinny jeans and American Apparel deep V-neck. I suppose it's probably just the case of the subculture from a half decade ago becoming the main stream of today, so, declare your indie-pendence.
Interdependence. Specifically between the scientist and the poet. Several days ago, while I was wandering the sidewalks, I came upon a fireworks display. I guess they were testing for today, it was such a serendipitous event. I had mostly just been walking with my head down when I heard the crashing, I was happy to find that my path would be within view of the cannons. Just as I was approaching they began the grand finale, and I got to stand and watch, through a fence, as the cannoneers danced around with their flares.
All the while, I had been thinking about the same things that have been ruining my walks for months, these heated arguments between my scientist and my poet, each of them trying to convince me that their explanation for all my troubles contained the lesson to be learned- since their individual arguments are so drastically in contrast to one another, to accept one is to reject the other.
As I stood there beneath the fireworks display I could see the poet jumping and pointing, he could hardly contain himself, crying out, "See! See!" And admittedly, if I didn't have qualms about the use of language referring to supernatural phenomenon, I might describe it as having the qualities of something magic. No sooner had I began to see the poet in a new light, but the wind changed, and I caught the scent of the black powder used to launch these lights into the sky. Then I began to notice all around me, there were remnants of cardboard casings that the fireworks would have originally been contained in. The poet had deceived me. It might be magic, if it weren't so clearly rational. Every spark, every combustion, every radiant color, each and every aspect of a fireworks display is absolute in its rationality and scientific explanation. My poet was trying to steal my scientist's thunder. What a dick.
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