Misanthropy that is mine

Contrary to my best intentions and my better judgment, I have given myself over to ranting in public again. (and here; and here.) I'm not sure why I hate every-fucking-one lately, but I had it pointed out to me that for about a month I had been scowling at everyone else in the office. And so on. Go me.

But I was reading Jason Mulgrew and I had to chuckle:

One of the plays we read in this class was Moliere’s The Misanthrope. The play is about this dude who basically doesn’t give an F. A guy that he knows wrote this terrible poem and rather than say it was good to be polite, the protagonist says it sucks. Hilarity ensues. The main character eschews politeness and social convention because he doesn’t want to play nice, and in the end goes off and lives alone in a cave somewhere. I think.

I've already posited the suggestion elsewhere that I should fuck off and live in a cave; Jason has followed-up a detailing of his own mounting misanthropy with the amusing solutions he entertains as alternatives (cocaine; starting an exclusive social club). I'm not sure I like either, but since I identify fairly strongly with his remark that:

it has become apparent to me that I hate other people. I’ve always had an inkling that I disliked being around people I didn’t know, but I’m finding that as I’m getting older, this "dislike" is growing into something like "rageful passion."

.. I suspect that before it gets any worse, I may have to resort to some form of therapeutic outlet.

Don't worry, though -- I don't own a gun. Nor do I particularly have the stomach for killin' stuff.

...

I thought I might mention that the Commonsense Nihilist has posted the next section of his graphic novel project; it's good stuff.