Cool

It amazes me that that word is still in common usage.  I don't mean that we have found another word for the English language that denotes a low temperature that is not quite cold.  I am referring to that most useless of adjectives that arbitrates the chaos theory style of social engineering known also as the schoolyard and carries on continuing to define our social status and street cred till we've finally grown out of it or until dementia and other evidences of creeping old age have landed us in the nursing home.

Cool summons images of dark glasses and black leather jackets, black t shirts, black jeans, black everything.  Cool cannot be defined.  It is its own definition, like the word colour which has to be seen to be understood.  But cool is colourless, odourless but for the faint lingering stench of Galloise of Gitanes (cigarettes I once smoked), a rigorously existentialist intellect, an economy of words that flows like minimalist poetry with the bite of a scorpion.  Cool is disdainful of those who are not...cool.  Cool is an upper case letter that wears lower case clothing.  Cool is a carefully studied and rehearsed pretense that nothing matters but that one thing that gives you passion and this passion speaks in a quiet voice and an economy of words that could suggest autism or at least a sexy indifference.

Yes, cool is sexy, the ultimate sexy, the ultimate illusive object of desire that always hovers and hums just a little bit out of our reach for which we should thank the gods and the muses because otherwise, if we catch it, possess and wear it, ceases to be cool.

Cool is an artificial value that we transfer onto those who validate our self-hatred.  Cool is illusion, it is the silent spaces between the peals of derisive laughter as the Great Unwashed continues to worship rock stars, movie stars and royalty and anyone else who ratifies that they are ugly, awkward and badly dressed.  Cool is afraid of nothing, or almost nothing, save for one little thing...

Unconditional Love.