Palahniuk says...

The late afternoon air was still, calm. Not many people here in Old Towne Alexandria. It was warm. A cool breeze nudges me gently and passes on. I crossed my legs indian style on the bench, book in hand, and i watched the world.

Tires screetched as the Lancer turned too quickly down Queen St. A Mitsubishi Lancer, one of 75 limited edition EVO's, 5 speed manual transmission, Chrome silver with blah rims, blah blah blah.

Two young men, handsome, well groomed, stylish, wealthy. Hand in hand, they glance at me, and look away. As they crossed the street I was hoping the Lancer would come back around and speed right through them.

A women dressed as a gypsie, in colorful flowing skirts and beaded jewelry, and long flowing hair walks out of an antique furniture store and locks it for the day. Her heels clack loudly as she stomps past me, ignoring me so hard that she was better off staring.

I looked at the book in my hand, the image of a terrified woman on the cover. Eyes bulging, skin stretched thin and pale, mouth agape. I open the book to where my Tool Army badge held my page and I read "We love conlfict."

A young teenager with pink hair, extensive amount of jewelry and accessories, and lots of black comes walking out of a used record store with vynils in hand. A motorcycle rumbles from a distance, growing louder as it comes closer. He too drives down Queen St. Shirtless, hairy, sporting fancy tattoos on a wellrounded fur-covered gut. His helmet was patriotic, as was his motorcycle, American flags billowing. Where was that Lancer.

Palahniuk says we love conflict. He says, we love to hate. We love tragic news stories. We want the child to be molested by his teacher, by his priest, by his father. We want war waged without justifiable cause. We want crooked politicians. We want news reporters to tell us with a straight and apathetic face that a man was fucked to death by a horse.

I think of the recent footage of a town destroyed, valuables lost, memories floating away. I asked myself whether I enjoyed this, in the comfort and security of my apartment complex that could collapsing at any moment should God will it. I asked if I felt good and secure while I watched people wading through muddy, virus infested waters.

I knew actors who visited third world countries to aid them. I knew musicians who set up foundations for the less fortunate. I know people who worked in soup kitchens. I knew people who toiled and suffered for the greater good. Doctors? Public Defenders? Therapists? Counselors? Religious leaders? Did they love conflict?

Mother Teresa? The pope? The Dalai Lama? Did they too love conflict?

Palahniuk told us why. He says that drama, pain, joy.. is just water and sand to erode us. Grind us down. To polish us up nice and bright. He told us that by watching others suffer we upheld ourselves. We were self-righteous in that we did not commit those crimes. We were fortunate in that we were not victims of rape. We were holy. We were better than them. Heroic villains.

What of the victims? The criminals? And if we were victims. If we were criminals. If we were wrong… we were to be pitied and still idolized and made heroes. Know that Timothy McVeigh was a victim. Know that Charles Manson was abused in his childhood. Know that thieves were neglected, rapists have low self esteem, pedophiles were abused. Pity them, they are villainous heroes.

We are entertainers and entertainees. We are heroes and we are villains. We are idolized and we are feared. Our entire world revolves around laugh tracks and flashing applause signs. Our success is measured by how many people tune in. In every social class, in every level, in every race, religion, culture, or society, our efforts are contingent upon the people around us.

The emo teen, the college racer, the gypsie middle aged women, the biker grandfather. The search for individuality is a search for an audience. If watching the world collapse around you while you shake your head, you have found your audience and have preached to them. If causing chaos in the name of rebellion or politics or rights.. you have found your audience and you have preached to them. If you break laws, whether you are captured or not, you have found your audience and you have preached to them. If you dress differently from the standard and force the world see you, you have found your audience and you have preached to them.

True individuals are unseen. The observers. The watchers. The invisibles. The artist who hides her painting. The writer who burns his poetry. The musician that never performs. Those who feel the weight of the world and walk seperated from it, not drowned within it. They do not love conflict.

It is those who are selfless that are individuals. The limelight-phobic. The needy-givers. The anonymous charity-giver. The doctor who uses vacation days to aid suffering towns in Africa, but tells no one. The hungry girl who sees a stray cat, and feeds it her only sandwich. They do not love conflict.

I return to my book now reading under the street lights. the town was still empty, not much going on a Tuesday night. Palahniuk says, in our secret hearts of heart, we root against the home team. And no matter how bad a situation is, it must always be outdone.