The Hubrist: Perhaps the most ironic title of all time; a quadruple agent of irony.
We’ve finally decided that the only way to get this thing up and running, to have it make any sense, is to allow it to make no sense at all in the beginning. We’re going to go on this ridiculous journey to the center of our minds together and we’re starting with stream-of-consciousness. Starting with the broadest topics, the most sweeping strokes, the sum of the parts; breaking down the individual pieces and linking them in as we go. Stephen King says, “I write to find out what I think.” Picasso says, “Good artists borrow, great artists steal. Those are absolutely examples of what’s going on here. Here’s hoping that there are others out there interested to find out what that is. Let’s get to it.
The name “The Hubrist” is a tangle of irony all unto itself. After all, who would be arrogant enough to amateurishly hammer away at a keyboard for a few hours a month (at this point far fewer hours than we’ve spent getting drunk and talking about amateurishly hammering away at keyboards), convert it to some HTML code, and expect anyone to care? Four guys stupid enough to think that starting it off by making up a new word is a bad-ass idea, that’s who. At least the whole making up stupid new words that no one needs is still an original idea and isn’t super played out yet…
But the lame irony doesn’t stop there. Oh no! Like the layers of an onion it only tries harder to make you cry the more you peel away. The irony increases, and perhaps finally begins to add a sprinkle of legitimacy to this en devour. Never before have there been four boys trapped in 1 regular and 3 shmedium sized men’s bodies who all, at one time or another, were each so sure that they would be the one deserving of hubris. We all know that, allegedly, “Pride Cometh Before the Fall”. We know it. We know it beyond a shadow of a doubt because we all vaguely remember who is was that told us about that one time that they overheard someone else say that they read it somewhere. But, therein lies the thrill! Hubris, at some level, is always earned. No super-human level of confidence can be born without some sort of track record. Icarus got to fly; Achilles got to wreak all sorts of havoc. That’s what we wanted. We wanted to one day wear that Hubris like a badge of honor. “God damnit! I earned this fatal character flaw! It’s proof that I was good at a thing!” But in true Millennial-American fashion, we decided to skip the part where you do the work; we just started doing a bad imitation of the people we wished we were. Never were there four man-children so sure that they had the world by the intellectual balls, who in 120 combined years on planet Earth have yet to accomplish a single god damn thing.
Adolescent us would have sworn to all the gods that we were 110% sure did not exist, that we were the Hubrist. That we were so entitled because we were the closest anyone was ever going to come to being deserving. Everything and everyone around us seemed stupid and didn’t make any sense. We had to be geniuses, right?
Now at the grizzled and veteran age of 30-ish, we look back on our former-selves with a distinguished “Son-of-a-bitch!” Never have four people been so knowingly unworthy of the title “The Hubrist”. No track record, no qualifications, no leg to stand on, no real reason for anyone to listen. Only a deep and profound certainty that things are not right around us. After all, as one man who was trying to convince another man how smart he was once said, “A wise man is the man who knows he knows nothing.” At least we have that part down.
So let us begin this journey together. This quest of four Pinocchio’s finally trying to become real boys. We are certain of very few things these days, but we can tell you a few things. We can’t tell you for sure where this journey is headed or what will become it, but we can tell you that if past performance is any indicator of future results we probably won’t put the work in and you’ll probably never read this. But we should, and you should, because the mantle of the The Hubrist should be taken up by someone. Someone should be striving to have all of the answers. Someone should inevitably fall and leave the world a lesson to be learned, but only because they searched so long and so hard for the answers that they really didn’t think that there could possibly be any left to find. Shout out to my little sister, who has always done so much a better job than I realizing that intelligence is not an attribute, it is an action. Being smart is not something that you are, being smart is something that you do. One thing we can tell you for sure is that only an idiot would have the answers and not use them. There are one or two things that the four of us are good at, and one of them is knowing when something is wrong. We’ve been smelling bullshit coming from all directions since 1984. But knowing that something is wrong, or even where the problem lies, is quite simply not good enough. It never has been. Just figuring out what the problem is, what part of our society is broken, is a poor-man’s excuse for intelligence. Data becomes information, information becomes knowledge, knowledge can bring understanding, understanding may lead to insight, insight over time becomes wisdom, and wisdom on those rare occasions blossoms into enlightenment. It is insight that is the hall mark of a great mind, the crucial step that no amount time or data can catapult one across alone. If we’re going to live our lives calling bullshit, the only path to meaning is to strive for solutions and endeavor to implement them. We have to believe we are smart enough to find the answers. Then we have to have the balls to get up off the couch and actually do something about documenting and implementing them.
So won’t you please come join us as we strive to see if we can post enough literary debris on the internet to transform ourselves into people worthy of making a difference in the world? Cthullu knows we need it. The fate of the human race is not going to be everyone elses responsibility for much longer. Very soon the responsibility to decide how humanity chooses to conduct itself will rest entirely on shoulders younger than the moon landing, younger than the computer, younger than the wars in Korea or Vietnam, younger than any of the Beatles albums. No shoulders have ever been strong enough to properly carry the crushing weight of this responsibility before, and none have ever before faced the complexity of the challenges that no doubt await us. As the brothers and sisters of the information revolution, the “Fuck-it” generation, the generation with the means and opportunity to be far more prepared than any that has ever come before us, someone should be out front, leading the charge, ready to shotgun a Pabst, crush the can on our heads, and proudly exclaim, “Pffsh…No big…I got this…What do you guys wanna do after?”
These are the voyages of the Starship Fuck-it, on a never ending journey to not just talk about, but to one day be about it.