The Mob Theory (Draft One)

There are three sorts of people: Me, You and Them. You when faced with mediocrity try to lift it. Make futile attempts to raise the intellectual, social and cultural conditions of the mob. Whereby you are faced with desperate failure, for even when you do succeed in changing a group to your will, they always assume a distorted view of the change that you had predetermined and hence corrupt the change in its root, thus causing degradation. Watching this failure you question, and upon the answer you try desperately not to become them. You try not to lose hope. It is this passion that you have mingled with that abominable lipid of hope in your brain that predestines the failure of your will.

Them, they think in their misled, misguide, yet satisfied emotions and intellect that you and I are crazy. That you are trying to beguile and manipulate them in their innocence. Thus their hatred and misjudgment toward you is justified in the larger balance of this chaos. They, the mob, believe in nothing so passionately as you and me. Nothing! Not even survival. For them even that is a mere cruel consequence of the life that was a sordid gift to them by some unimaginably decadent force. Hence you and I become unimaginable and difficultly crazy.

Me, I belong to the class that is you but for one that has travelled too far. Places not safe: And what doesn’t kill you makes you a whole lot stranger. Hence I put on the veil of proclamation of the term crazy. Now, for both of us this assumption is false, that we are not intellectually capable of concocting things that the mob can. No! It is a simple fact that we think beyond them that makes us lose that balance with the abominable normality of the mob. They cannot understand me because I don’t make any attempts to let them. They forsake me because of their fear for the unknown, the unpredictable. What they fail to understand is that I am more predictable then their rotting schemes. That there in me lies the true identity of chaos: Uncontrolled and unparalleled. And that there is more order in this chaos then there is in their little schemes. For it has a common affection with the larger, infinite chaos of this universe. I leave them to themselves; the idea that is followed by everything that is not human in the universe. That purpose is a word derived out of human meanings, for the human intellect. But even you, who are so similar to me, cannot see that, you cannot let it be, you want even me besides our various similarities to be your mirror image. And that is the failure of your passion.

And here again our ways coincide: it is because I don’t care and am passionate, and you care too much and are passionate that we are alike. It is here that an unstoppable force (you) meets an immovable force (me) and thus creates insurmountable power in our collision. It is this power that the mob worships, you corrupt and I don’t care about. And it is here that the actual order of things are put into place. We complete each other. I will not let you corrupt me with your small changes, you will not let me or them be, and they will never understand this in their mediocrity.

The problem here, though, is not mediocrity, it can’t be a problem. The problem is an unstable passion for stability and order. And it is a problem because that in the infinite measure of things is a falsification of the reality we live in. The problem is Your passion: in your passion you tend to disrupt the actual order of the chaos, and in my lack of attention to it I do it justice. Chaos cannot be controlled, it cannot be harmonized. It can only be enjoyed in my wakefulness, and yours, but not theirs, because they do not understand it. Even that, they will worship and put away in stones. They will make it an idea that is superior to them, instead of accepting it. They will distance it. For them death becomes an inevitable fear. For you and me it is a pleasure cruise to immortality.