When you have nothing better to do

We are masters of our destiny and victims of circumstance at the same time. There are steps we can take to better ourselves, but most of us can’t or won’t take them.

And even if we do, a more powerful entity will block our path. Break us down over time. Apply pressure from every angle. Make money, stay healthy, look good, be good, be excellent.

It also comes from within. The relentless demon of dissatisfaction pushing you to earn every day, stay fit, stay strong, stay forever young as your organs decay and your cells dream of death.

The only thing worse than being exploited is not being needed at all. First you work for less than you’re worth, then you become worthless. Join the ever expanding company of the economically redundant. For one vanishing moment of human history, your dumb, gas leaking meat bag was needed to rivet, stamp, weld and meld.

They needed you to produce a maniacal excess of goods. Then they needed you to consume those goods. The floodgates of credit were opened. You can’t afford your life but you’ll pay it back later. Someone will pay it later.

Mechanization weakened your body. Automation retarded your brain. Hardship is no wifi at the cafe. The slightest discomfort is an affront to human rights. Your wants and needs expand as your ability to meet the wants and needs of others contracts. You expect more and more as you deliver less and less.

The poor religious people of the southern hemisphere keep reproducing. They thrive on eating dirt and drinking disease. Suffering is nothing to them. They don’t have birth control and instagram. Nothing to do but eat shrubs and fuck. They don’t live in the shadows of other’s success. There’s no hesitation before the infinite menu of possibilities.

Meanwhile westerners rob themselves of their happiness. Condemning their past and questioning their future. What happens when the economy doesn’t even need you to buy products anymore? Your final occupation will be to die without leaving anything behind. Don’t have children because the brown people are taking care of that.

It would be cruel to reproduce an increasingly obsolete and threatened way of life. Persisting with vanity after the eclipse of humanity. Generations will be born into a world without light and hope. Mutant post-people will subsist in sewers and dwell in ditches, reciting myths of an ancient race of demi gods with remarkable powers.

Our ancestors dominated the skies and the waters. They tamed the beasts and glimpsed the mind of God. They grew fat and arrogant and brought ruin upon themselves. Now we live in the vacuum of their impossible promise, in the hollowed out rot of their greatness. 

This is a snapshot of a dark moment stretched out into a still life. I’m waking up in cold obscurity without work and money. The only way to release this dread and unease is by writing it out. I hope this was only an exercise, a piece of trash art.

Author: The Empty Subject

Born curmudgeon

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