Reader Shakti left this curious comment about an obscure author who made a speech at a high school graduation ceremony that was so bad people in the audience booed him. Here is a part I find curious in the speech:
I have an absolutely clear memory of being 18 and graduating from Roosevelt High School. I remember that many things made me feel happy, and that I pursued those things with vigor, but I also remember that I dreaded adulthood, and even more, old age and death, and that no matter what I was doing, no matter how good were the good times, somewhere at the bottom—underneath the music and the friends, the late nights and the fun—somewhere at the bottom there was always an awareness that this wasn’t going to last forever, and that I would have to get old like everyone else, which might not be so fun, and that one day, I would die, which wouldn’t be fun, either.
This is precisely what we talked about when we discussed the negative mother complex. This gentleman was intensely immature when he left high school (fear of adulthood is a sign of immaturity) and he remained stuck in this infantile mode of behavior. Now all he an do to enjoy life at least marginally is bully young people and try to spoil their graduation ceremony.
The rest of the speech should have been delivered at a psychoanalyst’s office many years ago. Then the poor author would have gotten help for his neurotic condition and wouldn’t need to badger others with it.
I always find it disgusting when instead of seeking professional help, people engage in these nauseating exhibitions of the suppurating sores of their psyche. It would never occur to anybody to remove a bandage that covers a gangrened limb and stick it into people’s faces during a festive occasion, would it? So why is it so much more acceptable to exhibit decomposing, putrefacient souls to innocent bystanders?
P.S. And this is what I will do to anybody who dares to say a bad word about Enlightenment.