Cynicism

I and cynicism, an intriguing story of love and passion

Cynicism

/ˈsɪnɪsɪz(ə)m/

"The ostentatious indifference to any kind of moral value"


Between old and new will.

I am a cynical, proud, mature and serious professional of this secret religion of mine. Just to say it, I already feel better. It is my remedy against the unhealthy idea of being sick in a certain way, and by analyzing the structure of our society I do not think I have ever been.
Initially I considered it a vice of form that prevented me from absorbing and processing any feeling that depicts moral values, both those belonging to the "old will" and for newer ones of a much more digital mold placed in the new testament to cynicism.
I do not make a shared boast at the meetings of friends and club members young cynical, and I feel like a hero for recognizing in me this form of detachment and being able to diversify its aspects by cataloguing them in two distinct periods of my Life.

That this is a profound openness to hostilities against cynicism.

I began my path towards cynicism when I was only a child and in the face of the burning of human suffering in general I remained impassive without feeling or repentance for lack of tact, taking advantage of that lightness to my advantage. that accompanies you when you are ten years old and sincerely speaking you have never conceived the pain of others on a large scale. My parents divorced when I was only seven years old, they tried to protect me from the evil of family separation, but I never felt pain, the day before they were divorced, the next they struggled to take my time, separating it in predetermined Sundays by a judge. I decided in order to remain stable with my father. This was the first piece of cynicism, the separation of something that in the collective imagination had to remain united, the perfect family model. Since then I have lived every day of my life with cold detachment because if I had managed to survive that world of divisions, compare also with the lives of other children; I could even survive everything else.

We have always appreciated the pain of others, as if it were the moment of detachment with the reality that everyone waits for at the end of the day. In my house, I often watched TV shows that generalized the misfortunes of others by resonating around the living room with personal stories of doubtful interest. Small or large that were, those facts of life, those glimpses of pain for me had no meaning, and yet for my father, and for my mother (two Sundays a month) to turn around that social "meat for slaughter", was part of a complex system , where the pain of others worries people but still makes them stronger by tarnishing their eyesight towards real problems. That television was the main medium of all this was just a coincidence.
The old testament of cynicism included the dispensing of the feeling of common apprehension until it became a docile trained dog ready to defend the boundaries of respect for others, all this made the majority of the population enslaved of the other people's pain, newspapers, junk TV, and documentaries about the dead, have smelled the scent and intensified the voltage of private and catastrophic news to the point of making for us a simple daily news a succulent and delicious meal for our guilt towards other people's problems. We have come out of it unscathed, but we still remain vigilant waiting every day for an ever-greater catastrophe, to be afraid of, to talk about until we run out of effectiveness and from which to be impressed for an ever-shorter amount of time. I have suffered the opposite effect, from all this I detached myself, too early perhaps and in an age when one should have a certain apprehension when it mixes purity of mind and terror of existence; I have been detached until i remain the bone that rejects the succulent strands of muscle, I am the bone and the pain of others is represented by the blood gushing muscle. There is no point in trying new approaches.

I don't think I've ever evolved as a cynic, I haven't explored how to detach myself, I've looked for new ways to apologize. I accepted the basic plan and continued on the same path for years and years until I understood that there was really something different in me unlike other humans, that even if they also began to show less interest they remained attached to a subtle thread to that human decency that is stipulated when weeping for the first time after a catastrophe. In truth, those others were waiting for the digital age of emotions. And it didn't take too long for it to be served to a dinner of intellectuals and creative-looking scholars who decided to leave some crumbs to the common poor mortals who of worldly living rooms and stories forbidden to minors were not yet gluttonous. For now.

The digital age has added more salt to an already opened wound, unleashing a violent wave of attention, not just media but of any kind. Entire herds of social users have found themselves inside a tight space where they can share every tiny personal feeling, including of course the spasmodic interest in the affairs of others. Social networks allowed everyone to be present at every moment in the lives of others immediately replacing news and radio, now we were not only aware of what was happening out there, we could also directly contact those in person had suffered, and the latter in turn were able to tell us directly their experience and then finally the cascade of likes, a lake of representations of affection via emoticon to get into the ancestral delirium of keyboard moments from every part of the world, not to mention the inevitable RIP to every death of a human being. I do not blame all this, sooner or later it had to happen, and we would surely have found a way to distract ourselves by following the stories that the world offered even the least interesting; I do not cry to blasphemy if we have been able to mourn the death of someone we did not know but will miss so much; I demand, however, that we recognize that we are not all the same that out in the dark of every timid emotion there is someone who like me is totally alien to the facts and moreover does not cry, does not despair and does not give in to the flattery of digital users of whom you know only the nickname . This is the new testament, only the expansion of who we are, we have increased the speed and the ability to strengthen our ego by solidifying it with general suffering. Waiting for someone to do the same with the pains of our lives, and we were immediately ready to disclose our personal information for the simple spirit of competition that unites the human race. We felt indebted to those who gave us the pain for free, at the cost only of some advertising and the acceptance of cookies.

I tried to create a supportive group of digital cynics, just to try not to fall behind but the echo of my voice in the chatroom waited for an answer that never came, the absolute void enveloped me. Maybe other cynics have also decided to take care of what I haven't felt for thirty or more years, finally closing the circle. Perhaps for the first time I apologise for sincerely expressing what thousands dream of being told on television, or written in some newspaper article.

Please viewers not to feel emotion and to listen to the news so that the facts are always clear to you. Good night

I know that if the Dislikes existed, it would rain from those many who have already been outraged