Politeness is a distraction.
It’s not our job to make everyone feel good about the moves we make.
We’d get nothing done if we had to ask permission and forgiveness each time that figurative little light bulb went off. Politeness is the bureaucratic red tape of ideas—an imaginary deterrent designed to keep us from acting on our natural instincts. It makes our inclinations impulsive and our initial emotions inconsiderate. It’s a farce.
Politeness is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
It allows scumbags to coast into squads under the guise of being nice guys.
Politeness is the impulse. We vomit up apologies when we aren’t sorry and shit out thank-yous without ever feeling gratitude. You know what politeness does, the tricky son-of-a-bitch, it pretends to be the thing that keeps us connected—makes us humane—while denying us our true connections and blunting our freedom of expression. It makes us liars.
Politeness tells a child to respect his elders because it said so—not because the elder is deserving. It’s the dictator that started the generational war. It exclaims that old is right, young is wrong, and that the ability to dissect an experience and analyze observations are inconsequential. It’s a dirty, rotten, divider.
Politeness destroys communication.
It’s that type of political language usage that I hate. That beating around the bush, small talk fodder that clouds my conversations and eventually my thoughts while making me feel guilty about not caring about its lack of substance. It’s a suckling parasite.
Fuck being polite. Be real.
Make Love & Do Work,