(Stream-of-consciousness psychography from the edge of the eschaton)
We’ve got an infestation folks. They’re crawling around the walls. Can you see them, smell them? They’re silent, you’ve got to be careful. But they’re the last thing you’ll hear before it goes dark.
The convicts are running the prison, no doubt. We’ve set ourselves up. Why did we make ourselves patsies? Stool-pigeons ratting ourselves out to the policemen in our heads?
That’s the way it goes I suppose. We freethinkers like to yell and beat at our chests. What ubermenschen! We will rot like the rest. Entropy is the house we live in and the house always wins.
Don’t get it twisted, friend. I’m right there eating my golden apple along with the worst. The sour juice drips down my chin. I should bottle it and sell it at the markets. Small-batch, artisanal. Only costs a shiny penny and you know you can’t beat the price
This isn’t a prophecy because nobody is surprised. We just stick to the facts here, ma’am. You go to sleep at night chuckling about black-iron prisons, and wake up in a steel sweat.
The darkest timeline is the edgiest timeline, and don’t we love ourselves some abrasiveness?
Look how rebellious we are now, mom. I have spit upon your icons, dad. But we of the final generation have no parents, so there is no one to rebel against but ourselves.
What a self-immolating exercise!
Listen. The demons ride our skins and fill our souls.
Do you doubt me? Of course you do. Come, eat of my bread and drink of my wine, but never ask me what I’m hocking.
Advertisements scream endlessly in your face, the visual noise a cacophony. How much room have they already taken up in your mind? In your soul? Small slivers scraped away, bit by bit, and replaced with… Them. Do you feel it? Does it hurt?
We are thirsty golems made of locally sourced material. Sponges, sucking up the best premium-mediocre living has to offer. Every mouthful a dead thing. Every inhalation carries molecules unseen. Humans detest the smog, we prefer to keep our toxic air invisible, thank you very much.
What a crowning achievement! Make poison undetectable and suddenly it’s more palatable. We don’t mind having our bodies ravaged by noxious inhalants, as long as we don’t see it. The illnesses they breed are accepted, inevitable. Who would have thought a monopoly on air was achievable?
Oh, glorious Leviathan.
From the Anthropocene with love,
2 thoughts on “Love-Letters From The Anthropocene #1”
This is the curse of hunger; the fulfillment, peace. The Apple satiates when we need sustenance. Our hollowed lives are fulfilled through the feeding of our belly that is growling now because we are suffering. Is there any other way for every single one of us to learn and be changed and remember to hold tight the ones we love? Not yet, apparently.
Be glad, like Eve for the Apple and pity the snake. We remember his stomach can never be filled no matter how much he eats.
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And fight like hell.
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