Where are you guys? Awards season has arrived and I’ve already witnessed some amazing, super powerful, earnest (soooo earnest…) speeches from the podium, trophy in hand, but where the fuck are you guys? Our goddamn democracy is in the throes of dissolving into a fascist empire and us poor folk have no idea where our heroes are (when they aren't at the awards shows, of course).
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to pin this all on you. This mess is not all your fault and not solely your responsibility, but seriously, where the fuck are you? Why isn’t every independently wealthy (or rich enough they have the power to take off work at will) person in this country, who hates 45 and believes in protecting our democracy and Constitution, standing in D.C. protesting this insanity? I’m especially looking at you, Hollywood. Just like the robber-barons of the housing crisis and our overpaid congress men and women, you’ve built your fiefdoms off dollars from the poor, who’ve thrown their money into a cinematic black hole in exchange for brief respites from their normal lives. It’s a fair exchange, to be sure. Hard work makes those films. But, we’re in unusual times here. Times that call for the good guys to step up their efforts, and that doesn’t just mean us masses.
Now, I know. I know. There are many celebrities and other uber-wealthy who are in the fight, both publicly and privately. But these dire times are calling for a unified public effort. For leaders to rally the troops, and despite my disdain for wealth equaling leadership, it has become a greater reality in this day and age, an era where people whose only job skill and title is “influencer” are getting rich off their internet presence.
So I will ask you again, dear wealthy friends of the poor, where the fuck are you? We need your help. For the love of god, get your well-to-do asses to Washington and lead the protests. Lead the rallies. Stand out there and stomp your goddamn feet, and get the rest of this nation to pay attention to the fight we're currently in the middle of losing!
It’s Monday and we’re back in the saddle. Routine, you sweet, time traveling bitch, you. Twenty minutes to bring computer to life. Him’s old and a little cranky but still expected to put in his forty hours like the rest of us. I wonder what our future AI overlord will do with all the old machines? Our current AI overlord doesn’t seem to care much for them, but you know, we can always hope for progress down the line. More compassion and what not, for the little guy and girl.
Check the feed and see the news. The world’s on fire! The world’s on fire! Only, it really is. Ahhh…there’s that super comfy, warm blanket of, “thank the God I don’t believe in I don’t have children.” A noteworthy shift in thought from ten years ago, when the simple math of, “okay, if I don’t have kids until this age, statistically, I will have this much time with them before I die,” was a regular thought process.
Random thoughts random thoughts while the coffee does its business. Ooh, here’s one. Seen lots o talk lately from the middle. The middle is a safe place, especially for los blancos popularros, aka my fellow, desperately clinging to power, white folk. I see their opinions on how their voice matters, and it does. Just a shame they don’t have the empathy to realize the centrism they’ve lived so comfortably with their entire lives has been genuinely oppressive to other good people who weren’t born so lucky. I too, believe in compromise. These moderates need to compromise their comfort in exchange for real movement for those less fortunate, and for those against whom our culture has historically tilted the odds.
Anyway, my car is falling apart and my house needs repair and my parents are aging without much of a safety net and we’ve got a universe to save and I’ve got a novel to finish writing, and hope to cling to that my book might get picked up, and maybe I won’t have to live the rest of my life working for someone else, even though I’ve got a pretty great job, if you consider any job that isn’t what you really want to do with your life great, and my dog is getting older, so I’m already thinking about how I’m going to handle his demise even though he’s only seven, and I’m the last of my mother’s father’s clan to pass his family genes and history along to a new generation, but why in the hell is anybody who isn’t loaded with cash having kids right now, and honestly what good is all that cash gonna do when Mother Nature unleashes her anger in full force, and to that end what the fuck is the point in writing these stupid ass books so I can live on in perpetuity when there will be no perpetuity, when instead I could be devoting all of my free time to doing good deeds for others so my soul might live on for eternity if we somehow manage to not destroy eternity as well. Seriously, has anyone considered how fucked heaven might actually be when you get there, considering what humanity has done to the potential utopia we already have? You gonna tell me it’s beyond the scope of reason that angels might be completely self-absorbed, over consuming, environment killing jerks?
Oh well, thank Bob it’s Monday. Head down, feet forward…
It's been a while since I've posted anything here for the marketing bots and internet scavengers to discover. It happens. But here we are near the end of a year and I feel compelled. Compelled to leave some marker to myself, and any wandering soul who may stumble across this disheveled heap of recklessly tossed words.
2019 was a beast, the stuff of nightmares. A monster burst forth from the bedroom closet of my mind, born to wreak emotional havoc. There I said it. Moving on...
I've learned. A year of accepting sadness and finding the joke in it all. I've learned. A year of shedding tears willingly, allowing the tide and then smiling after the wave has crashed. I've learned. A year of letting go, of spending more time and exerting more effort practicing the age old creed: "Don't sweat the small stuff." A year of plugging away, head down, feet forward, and on and on towards another day. And somewhere in the midst of it all, there were countless sneaky moments of joy, refusing to be denied, begging to carry us through.
You motherfucker. Coming for my already fragile peace of mind, with your short days and cloudy skies. I will do all the drugs and sleep through your bullshit. I will take to the cave and hibernate in the light of my UV savior, the grow lamp of love. You will not defeat me, winter. You will pass, and in the Spring when you retreat, frostbitten tail between your legs, I emerge renewed.
And a little pudgy.
I planned, and started, a deep dive into this subject with intentions of giving the essay its own page on the website. After further thought, I thought, what a giant waste of my fucking time.
That said, my friends and I have had lengthy discussion of these modern times, and this new modern censorship. We grew up during an era of fierce opposition to censorship. Progressive culture used to be the force that fought not to be labeled and railed against censorship in art. Thus, many progressives of my age demographic are taken aback by this new modern progressiveness that insists we all fit neatly into some demographic box (cis, trans, abled, toe-headed, left footed, wall-eyed, etc. etc.), and refuses to accept the difference between actual hate speech and artistic exploration.
Okay, that was a little snarky. Perhaps unnecessarily, but the crux of this writing is my gut reaction to "Cancel Culture" and stand-up comedy. Dear young progressives, please know that I support your efforts for a better world. The issue is, we can have empathy, and loving hearts, and be a part of the movement, and still laugh at unsavory humor. We laugh at ourselves. We laugh at pain. Many people prefer to laugh at the things that hurt them, myself included. That's just our natural reaction. We can watch a comedian tell crass jokes and understand that they are just jokes, while the real world problems still exist and have to be dealt with.
I've lost people to cancer and still laugh at cancer jokes.
I've lost people to drugs. Still laugh at dope jokes.
Lost people to old age. Still make fun of old people.
Lost people to car accidents. Still make fun of trucks. Wait...
I have trans friends and still understand there are trans things that can be poked fun of. I've had homosexual people in my life my entire life. Helped raise me and I love them, and in general the community with all my heart, and I still jokingly say things are gay, etc. I've had friends from minority communities my entire life, and understand that all of us have unfortunate stereotypes associated with our communities that deserve to be poked fun of. White people can't dance. Black folk talk during movies. Etc. Etc. I sure as fuck make fun of myself and my fellow cockasians on a regular basis. Yes, that's a dick joke race joke combo, and I'm not exactly sure what it means either.
What's at issue here is intent. Is the person operating with a hateful heart? Is the person trying to make an honest point, or a disingenuous one? Is the person simply teasing, because everyone deserves a little teasing. Please remember that art is an outlet for emotions. Haven't you ever wanted to, and successfully yelled, at someone you love? Perhaps even in public?
One more thought before my grand finale, just in case someone reads this drivel. The progressive community in the United States needs to recognize there is a ton of amplification of discourse aimed at simply keeping the argument going. The forces of evil in this world are genuinely trying to keep America divided. We know this for a fact. Much of the "Cancel Culture" discourse is being amplified on the internet by trolls (and their bots) with no other desire than to see the world burn.
In summary, what I'm calling for here is a little more understanding. Try to understand how your fellow progressive doesn't agree with you when you want a comedian banished for eternity because they tell a joke you find hurtful. I promise, I will try to encourage others to act with patience and understanding for your argument as well, even if I disagree. We are living through an era of righteous indignation, rightfully brought on by the grand exposure of a nasty underbelly in our culture. It's understandable that people are so amped up. There are powerful forces at play intent on keeping us that way. We've got to keep a clearer eye on the very real battles worth fighting. Disenfranchised communities have discovered a new source of power to wield: social media. Please operate with discernment. Please know who your real enemy is, because I promise you, it's not Dave Chappelle.
For all my ponderings on life as a force all its own, and the fates to which we are all bound against our will, predetermined by the insistence of existence, in this sea of ever changing winds and turbulent waters, I still man the rudder, I still raise the sail.
I see children who want to change their world, to save their world. I see “adults” who’ve done the damage, created the calamity, attacking the problem solving youngsters. Cowards. Liars. Cretins and curs, all of them, desperate to believe anything but the truth of who they are and of that for which they are responsible, the impending destruction of this beautiful planet and their own goddamn species.
I hold myself accountable. Not for all this wrong, of course. I’m certainly no powerful deity. Not capable of some grand gesture to have caused or to solve this mess. I’m just a man, a cog in a wheel made of billions, who ignored the writing on the wall to chase my own petty desires. And here we are now, so I will apologize.
Dear fellow humans, dear children, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. For my selfish participation. I ignored the call, like most if not all, to be a better version of myself. To be a creature of unabashed giving and devotion to others. And now here I sit, much closer to death than birth, immature illusions shattered, praying to a power I cannot define, praying the children will win. I beg your forgiveness young humans, though undeserved, and offer my soul to the hope you survive this mess we’ve created. Amen.
To all the children, it only gets worse from here, but there is good news...
I was on the way to work this morning remembering a loved one. This is an open wound, fresh and tender, and will most likely remain a little taste of daily sadness for the rest of my time here. I can accept that, and try to find the beauty in it all. The sweet, miserable beauty of unrequested existence...
And in the midst of this remembrance, I found myself pondering the acquisition of emotional wounds throughout our days, from birth to the grave. It's the cumulative effect of thousands of paper cuts that never fully heal, with each additional cut adding another little twinge to a lifetime of pain. There will be laughter and joy, and those moments may make this whole deal worthwhile if we let them, but the cuts are always there. They may even prop up the joy, increase the sweet relief that comes with a laugh, but the cuts are always there.
Still, I have good news for the kids, and it is such a simple act of mercy from the Universe, I don't know how I haven't stumbled on this realization before. The question of what took me so long aside, as I was driving and wondering to myself how I was going to put up with all this nonsense for another 20, or 30, or 40 years (If I'm lucky, right? Right?), the following connection finally dawned on me: The longer we live, the more hardship we're exposed to, the more pain we acquire, the faster we pass through this life. Each day seems like it passes faster than the last, and so on and so on until the sweet relief of eternal peace. So, dear children, if you're ever feeling down and wondering how you're going to survive all this madness, just remember, the longer life goes on the faster it moves. This ever accelerating perception of our individual lifetime may actually serve as a tool that heightens your moments of joy and softens the burden of grief. You're welcome.
My friend and I were discussing the sudden uprise of white nationalism, fascism, and their umbrella category, racism. Of course, this current unleashing of the racist hounds was not sudden. It festered and boiled over. But to those of us who were caught off guard when the boil pot blew its top, it felt sudden. Anyway, he and I were discussing the hopefulness in the idea that this was racism's last desperate gasp before the bulk of the human race puts a collective foot down and says those times are gone. At least in our lifetime.
It's only more recently, during this bout of mainstream racism, that I've been exposed to this movement's direct correlation with climate change. Climate catastrophe will cause refugees, millions and millions of brown refugees. Ahhhhhhhhh! I mean, constant fear of evil gangs and corrupt third world governments already created a healthy stream of immigration, but when the Sea rises up and says, "this land is mine now," we're talking about entire populations needing a new, dry place to live.
I've posted about this before, but what struck me today and brought on this freshly crafted piece of excellence is this quasi-spiritual and metaphysical symbiosis between humankind and Mother Nature. We are genuinely living a disaster flick plot line. The only way the planet gets saved is if the good guys win and we take the world's major democracies back from the clutches of evil, racist stupidity. If the bad guys win, the planet is doomed and we all die. Of course, even if the good guys win, it may be too late. Thus, what we're really quite possibly witnessing, is the last desperate gasp of humanity.
Perhaps, and just indulge me here 'cause I am definitely trying to scare young parents, but perhaps all this current sociopolitical strife is the result of a species sensing its demise on a collective subconscious level. AKA, we know Mother Nature's coming for us and e'erbody's freakin the fuck out.
Conceptually, it seems natural the death of a species would be fraught with discord.
Traveling backwards through the future is an easy trick. The curse of the old, the fate of the young. A spell cast by Mother Nature that insists upon itself. You will stumble and fall and rise and succeed over and again as the circle completes, shuffling towards the grave, satisfied or aggrieved, and eventually bemoan the world as it is for a world that used to be. Life is a merciless port to shore for your soul. Death is freedom into the sea.
Then again, without life there would no fried chicken.
As my time sifts through the glass, moments of unadulterated joy come fewer and further between, and feel ever less-deserved. On the occasion when I do stumble across those brief, intoxicating moments of cosmic good will, my unfortunate mind quickly succumbs to the gloom, to the golem of hopeless reality haunting this world. The poor. The starving. The painfully dying. The never-had-a-chancers.
Where is their joy?
Maybe I'm being petty, but I'll tell you what sucks most about all these jerks using "God's Plan" to justify all their evil bullshit:
When we die and there's no afterlife, we won't be able to rub their noses in it.
We'll be dead. Which means, if you want them to get what they deserve, you kind of have to be rooting for hell. And of course, this means if hell exists, you're likely going to wind up there too for thinking all these nasty thoughts. Which I suppose means that you might get to torment those liars and hypocrites while in hell, but the whole deal still sucks because that means hell will basically just be what we already have right now on Earth. Accept, at least the bad guys will be suffering. I suppose there's that.
Today is Memorial Day. I’ve already done a successful tour of social media patriotism. I came back alive. Many were not so lucky. Luckily, we have today to remember our fallen. Please forgive me while I take offense to the entire charade.
We are in the middle of a worldwide uprising of bigoted nationalism, on the collision course for global climate catastrophe, and yet today will be filled with ostentatious pandering about freedom, sacrifice, more freedom, and of course, never-forgetism.
Let us never forget, our country has not fought a necessary war since World War II. That was about defeating a would-be global conqueror, who had already done some genuine conquering and was not going to stop. Every incursion since then has been politics or blatant imperialism. Many of our “fallen heroes” were simply out there protecting the freedom of economic exploitation in whatever region some rich dickhead decided there was more money to be made, and to that end, our “fallen” were definitely defending the freedom of rich dickheads to make even more money off of the United States Military’s multi-billion dollar budget.
To be clear, I certainly appreciate the freedoms we still have in this country in comparison to many other societies in this world. I genuinely appreciate the fact that many people have laid down their lives so that I may have my eight-hundred and fifty square foot castle, half an acre of land, Internet access, pickup truck, high mileage foreign car, multiple televisions, etc. etc. My great-great-great-great-great (or something like that...) grandfather fought in the Revolutionary War so that I might have this tiny slice of piece-of-mind pie. But on this Memorial Day, let us never forget all of the others who have died so that we might prosper.
All those foreign innocents killed by our weaponry, the citizens and their children who simply wanted the same things we want. A safe and happy place to live, love, grow old and die. All sacrificed in the name of our enduring freedom. Let us never forget the countless foreign workers, who’ve slaved in miserable conditions that have led to Bob knows how many deaths so that we might have all of the technology we deserve.
Let us never forget all of the animals and ecosystems we’ve sacrificed in the name of commerce and growth. Let us never forget those facilities that were built to replace nature so that we might have places to shop, as those facilities now sacrifice themselves to the future, an internet shopping jungle aptly named Amazon.
Let us never forget the Asian Americans, Native Americans, African Americans, and in general, poor people of all creeds and colors, whose lives were sacrificed in the building of this absurd capitalistic military industrial complex.
If I were to continue, and I certainly could, I’d be charging forth into beating the dead horse territory (Never forget the horse!). Thus, I will wrap this up with one last nod to my ever-enduring cynicism. Let us never forget the cynics, who forgo any opportunity to live happily in this country, nay this entire fucking world, in the name of truth, contempt, and Sisyphean wind-railing.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: Three aborted fetuses walk into a bar. They would have been U.S. citizens with the opportunity for success, failure, paying taxes, and most importantly, consumerism. Instead, just as with their conception, their fate was determined outside of their own choosing. Lucky jerks.
While abortion rights have generally been the most divisive political tool of my lifetime, to my knowledge (and though I'm certain this is not original thought), I’ve never happened across the argument I’m about to lay out. Just recently, I saw information regarding the pro-life movement as a means of crowd control. The argument is logical, though I think it falls short of a grander motivation. It's true, forcing people to have babies they may not be able to afford, or simply should not have for any number of reasons, also helps keep millions upon millions of people subjugated by their financial overlords. And we know how our overlords get wet in their naughty parts whilst day dreaming about all of their delicious control, don’t we?
We sure do. But, I would argue the control factor is secondary to a greater lust. Yes, there is something that makes a capitalist monster's tits tingle even more than control: profit. In general, a Kingdom’s citizenry is its most valuable gross domestic product. That’s why the power players want those baby factories pumping the little shits down the conveyor. Money. So, while we continually point out the hypocrisy of the “right-to-lifers” who basically want to make sure every child is born, but don’t want to take care of humans that are already alive and need help, we need to stop being baffled by said hypocrisy. We need to recognize what a fantastic Trojan horse conservatism has built for itself.
Every baby born is an opportunity for those at the top of the financial food chain to make more money, including our government. First of all, child birth and rearing is big business. We all know this. Then those little shits grow up to be consumers and tax payers, just like you and me. Even if they grow up poor and stay poor, they still pay into the system in some form or fashion. The profit margins on the poor certainly aren’t as strong, but man, the poor sure are easy to bleed dry and dispose of.
Meanwhile, as we fight over abortion, the right hand if you will, no one will have time to watch what the GOP is doing with their left hand. It’s simple and brilliant. Even if Roe v. Wade is overturned, the GOP will just continue to convince their voting base the Dems are going to keep fighting for the right to kill those precious babies, which they will. And all the while, we the masses, whichever side of the fight we are on, remain this nation’s greatest gross domestic product. Rippin’ and runnin’, churnin’ and burnin’, spending, spending, spending, funneling that money all the way to the top, baby.
So, bring on those little consumer GDP babies. Each one is an opportunity for some douchenozzle like Jeffrey Preston Bezos or that robot Zuckerberg to take money from (let’s remember that the wealthy don’t have to be classically conservative to benefit from conservative rule…). Each new baby is a potential GOP voter and payer of taxes, and if they don’t turn out that way, just leave ‘em in the Pit of Despair.
Maybe there is some wicked Illuminati Billionaire Preppers Club getting ready for a climate apocalypse. I doubt 45 is in on the plans. Hims a tacky puppet him is. But, maybe a few of these ultra-wealthy global humanity board-game players realize the United States is about to shrink. If they want to comfortably survive climate catastrophe in their cushy Midwest bunkers, they don't want a bunch of poor foreigners banging on their doors.
Nope, nope. Best to keep them in their under-developed regions of the world where they will be easily wiped out by Mother Nature. The culling is the writing on the wall. Why try to prevent it? It's gonna happen anyway. Thus, fucktards scramble for enough wealth to make the I Will Survive team, while most of those that are already in the club appear to approach the oncoming madness with a, "Let's just make this shit worse and get the whole thing over with," attitude, like a coal-powered-yacht buying Slim Pickens riding a nuke.
Everywhere I go, I’m the problem. No less true today than the first time I had this realization over a decade ago. I’m the problem. Why? I’m not certain. Perhaps I simply take this entire situation too seriously.
I was raised in the Southern Baptist Church. Thus, I was indoctrinated at an early age that this is serious business. Life is serious business. We’re all in a battle for our very souls. Our very souls! An eternity in heaven or hell. Choose your weapon wisely. Maybe this is my problem. Apparently, I was highly susceptible to training. I was highly susceptible to feeling special. God chose me? Nice.
Now I’m middle aged and weary. Tired of hedging my spiritual bets. Tired of watching everything I was taught to believe in continue to crumble away. For the time being, to define the scope, let’s refer to the Golden Rule as the gist of everything I was taught to believe in.
With the Golden Rule, along with the rest of the loving teachings of Jesus downloaded into my fleshy brain goo, I walked away from religion years ago, probably around the same time I first thought to myself, “Everywhere I go, I’m the problem.” Of course, despite having walked away from the religion that helped train me into believing I was a spiritual being, I’m still formed by those teachings. The program files are still running in my brain goo cpu. My heart’s desire to be good, to do good, to protect my soul against an eternity of damnation, that desire still rules my existence. Again, I call it hedging my spiritual bets.
Back to point, perhaps I take this whole situation too seriously. I look around at a world that appears to have lost its collective mind. Even those screaming into the wind that none of this is as it should be have likely given into lunacy (at least on some level), in order to survive all this nonsense. I’m certain I have. Why Bob, why?
Despite my personal compulsion to stay engaged as much as possible, I have no qualms with escapism. In fact, for me, the pendulum must swing all the way from engagement to complete detachment, in order to maintain sanity. I assume this is common.
Will escaping move the world forward? On certain levels, yes, through the creative enterprise of particular escapists. On other levels, it's simply a necessary drug. A pacifier to ease the pains of cultural existence. Luckily, as far as we know and despite what some may tell you, none of this matters.
Time is not an illusion. It is a construct. A necessary construct for fleshy, mortal lives. This is, indeed, the end of the year on our Earth, no matter the amount of flippant jokes my cohorts and numerous unknown others prefer to make.
The year 2018 on Earth 1, or Alpha Earth, or whatever the fuck I choose to call the version of Earth at the center of my personal universe, well, our 2018 was relatively shitty. But, not as bad as 2017. 2018 saw a lot of wins for the good guys. A lot of losses as well. Such is life, I suppose.
All I know is, I can see and feel the sand sifting in the giant time glass that is our biological clock. There is more to be done. More work to get done. So, come to us 2019. Come to us bearing more time and more energy, and we will serve you with our efforts, for time is our only master. The only foe we can't defeat or hide from. The only lover that's never left.
Anyway, most humans suck, life on Earth is a dirty trick pulled on unsuspecting souls, there is no God, and all your heroes are full of shit. Thank Bob we've got art. Happy New Year.
PS - In all seriousness, let's kick 2019 in the dick. Happy New Year, for real.
I have a goat with a monkey on his back.....
The monkey stole the feet from a big fat yack.....
The big fat yack sat down in a crack.....
And the crack sighed, "Why is my life so black?"
And the Lord said, "Because you were a jerk when you were alive, so I put your soul in a crack in the ground, and now you are stuck with a big fat yack ass in your "face" blocking out all the sun, and he ain't got no feet, so I don't think he will be goin anywhere anytime soon. So maybe next time you won't be such a jerk."
And the crack said, "Next time?"
And the Lord said, "We'll see. Now stare at that yack ass."
I've seen immigration issues arise on several other versions of Earth, as well as on numerous planets outside our galaxy and universe (and entire plane of existence for that matter).
On most versions of Earth, I must unfortunately admit much of the xenophobia remains. However, on Earth 11, one highly industrious and extremely wealthy individual created an amazing solution. To my knowledge, it revolutionized the course of humanity. To be honest, from what I can tell, Earth 11 is pulling a lot of weight for the forces of good in the cosmic balance between good and evil.
Anyway, here's what happened. A billionaire, when confronted with the demonization of refugees attempting to flee horrible circumstances, decided to take matters into his/her own hands. His/her idea? A 100% renewable energy operated, agriculturally self-sustaining community in the middle of nowhere (AKA....all that fucking open land in mid-western United States).
He/she sought other altruistic wealthy people to invest and off they went. A city was built from the ground up. The billionaire negotiated with the government to chill the fuck out about all these scary ass refugees that were attempting to invade our country for the purposes of working low wage jobs and avoiding being murdered by drug cartels. Thus, the refugees were allowed the option to sign up to help build this city, their future home, in exchange for a path to citizenship and a life free from the tyranny of the lands they fled.
And they did. They worked their asses off to see a better future for themselves and their children (much like the first wave of outside settlers into the United States, except without all the horrific murder and stealing of land from natives). The most beautiful sight was the sense of ownership these peaceful humans took in their city's creation from the ground up. Was everything perfect? No. But eventually, a thriving metropolis of over a million people sat smack dab in the middle of what was once uninhabited land.
You may be asking, what about water? As you might imagine, building a 100% renewable city from the ground up required a shit-ton of scientific innovation (and yes...I've actually made shit-ton a scientific measure...I can do stuff like that). Anyway, rational limitations on daily water usage along with other logical sustainability statutes were established from the onset, but one of the greatest innovations came in the form of water renewal. The key was keeping waste out of the water! (A novel fucking idea to say the least...) Alongside that, the infrastructure of the city was built in such a way that all plumbed water was contained in a closed system, continuously cycling through a purification system. The costs and energy usage for cleaning the water would understandably be high, except for, you know, the city being self-sustained and powered by 100% renewable energy. It was a giant, healthy organism. A beacon to the free world. A light shined on the ridiculousness of all humanity's previous excuses for the horrible treatment of less fortunate people and the planet as a whole.
The city, named Futroplis (future + metropolis, submitted by 5th grader Danny Trate the Fourth) after a public vote, went on to be the home of a world renowned university. Professional sports franchises were established and quickly won championships. The world's most skilled chefs, doctors, and oddly enough, punk rockers, would call Futroplis their home.
The city was the greatest example of human engineering in history, and would eventually be named capital of the free world, though that came hundreds of years later when the global democracy was established, after the invasion of the Dougtonians from Borialis 15. Dougtonians are an alien race of bland features, super boring domestic lives, poorly conceived art, and an insatiable desire for militaristic conquest of other planets to compensate for all their shortcomings.
Anyway, it's a shame our Earth doesn't have any super wealthy altruistic people who could come together and do something like this. Yeah. A damn shame.
Oh, that wealthy donor on Earth 11? Her name was Maria. To my knowledge, she does not have an interdimensional twin on our version of Earth, so we're probably screwed. Hail Frump.
We're all fucking morons.
I love our many colors and our many cultures. There is so much to be learned from our differences, so much personal growth to be had in the discovery of something foreign from our individual make-up.
Unfortunately, our species was endowed with this baffling paradoxical nature, equally capable of hate and violence as love and understanding. I would happily sacrifice some of the wonders of our existence that are born of conflict to see us stop killing one another. To see evil no longer be a situational requirement of our lives.
Thus, I would be perfectly happy to see humanity evolve into a species of monochromatic unisex organisms whose prevailing emotion is empathy.
I’m weary. Here I sit with this privileged life, having only suffered minor - and often self-inflicted - hardship, yet I’m exhausted. Unfortunately, my exhaustion is not from the type of positive effort I wish I consistently put forth towards the betterment of my soul and this world. Rather, it is the type of fatigue that comes from overthinking instead of doing. From lamenting instead of fighting. From suppressing instead of coping. An underwhelming sense of dread.
The world has suddenly developed a dramatic love affair with fascism, authoritarianism, and racism. Let’s call the combined three-headed monster of negative ismry, suckism. I know, suckism has been brewing for a while, but the movement’s most recent leap into the mainstream has been a dramatic eye opening for all of us who were piddling along the timeline of our mundane existence thinking things were generally moving in the right direction, however slow that movement may have been. We’ve now come to discover what we can only hope is the last spastic gasp of this utterly vile aspect of human horseshit.
Of course, it really doesn’t matter if suckism gets eradicated (which it won’t), now that we’ve discovered our destruction of the planet is accelerating at an alarming rate of...acceleration (that’s right). It’s possible that if my poor behavior doesn’t kill me first, I may yet live to see humanity’s destruction on a global scale. Despondency invites itself to my home for dinner before the show. I tried hiding in the basement, but I left the front door unlocked.
I don’t want to grow old and watch the world die alone. I could still have a family. A partner. Children. Grandchildren if I’m lucky. Then I realize I’m not certain I could live with the guilt of bringing them into this world. I’m not certain I’m happy I was brought into this world. I mean, each and every one of us is brought into this world against our own will, then told to sink or swim. Some of us get thrown life preservers and some get chained to rocks, but none of us asked for this horseshit. Anyone who loves their life is basically suffering from Stockholm syndrome. How could I do that to someone else, simply hoping they are way happier to be alive than I am?
Oh well. Maybe I will get to witness society crumble as mother nature ravages humanity. Maybe I will get to take sides in the last great battle between human good and evil. If shit hits the fan soon enough, I suppose I could get into that. We would fight for the sake of goodness and hope in the face of impossible odds. We would have children in the midst of all this madness, as propagation of the species would once again be paramount. We would win the war, pay homage to mother nature and play by her rules, raise our children to understand the madness that led to this and endow them with the knowledge and wisdom not to make the same mistakes we made.
But I’m already so tired. So tired, and there’s work on Monday. There’s bills to pay. We’ll just have to figure all this other shit out later, when we have more time. When we’re not exhausted. Not so damn weary.
I probably just need some exercise.
In the age of the proliferation of the Bobdamned "Fake News" phenomenon, I beg all humans, please stop personalizing truth. As I sit here recording the history of countless creatures and species, my focus has been hijacked by the trials and tribulations of my Earth's era of 45.
Of course, the factors that allowed him began long before him and will continue long after him. The United States was well known for hyperbole and pop-culture catch phrases. The proliferation of the internet has only made those cultural personality quirks more...proliferated.
Anyway, I have grown as weary of the terms "my truth, your truth, his truth, her truth," and any other possessive addresses for truth as I have the steaming pile of dog shit that is the catch phrase, fake news.
Stop personalizing truth! Truth isn't yours, his, hers, or theirs. Truth is universal. Truth is truth. The idea that truth can be personalized is half the fucking problem with this entire fake news, flat-earther, I'ma believe what I want culture. Stop it. Just stop.
Truth is truth.
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