Is it just me, or does life on Earth seem unnecessarily complicated?
I guess that depends on the word “unnecessarily.”
Let’s start there.
We’re pretty simple creatures, are we not? Aside from the big brains, we’re no different from any other animal roaming the lands — we need to breathe, we need to eat, and we obviously have a big thing for fucking. Even though we have this so-called greater reasoning capacity, supposedly giving us a major advantage over the dimwitted critters livin’ in the woods, why does it seem like their lives are far more honest, pure, and simple?
Over hundreds of centuries, we’ve crafted our civilization into a dynamic and highly complex hierarchy. We’ve built bridges and towers, learned to split the atom, and are sitting on the edge of realizing artificial intelligence as a practical reality.
Impressive shit, eh?
The only problem, it seems, is that we don’t really like ourselves that much.
We treat each other like fucking garbage. Stray dogs get rescued, while homeless people freeze to death. Single mothers work 3 jobs to feed their kids, while CEO’s drive around in Ferraris with hookers and coke. Homes are denied to families daily by institutions concerned with nothing else but maximizing their usurious profits, and 98 percent of the world’s wealth sits in the hands of 2 percent of our population.
We sell each other poison, and call it food. We pollute our waters, and call it business. We find the cheapest ways to manufacture limitless amounts of toxic shit to rub on our skin or banish dirt, and feel good sleeping at night knowing warning labels were conscientiously put in place. We’re lied to on a daily basis, but seem content to keep our heads buried in the sand — oblivious to the fact that position makes it real easy to get fucked in the ass.
Endless war, endless greed, endless corruption — how the fuck have we come to this? And why the flying fuck is it considered “normal?”
Perhaps our brains aren’t as highly advanced as we’ve been told.
Or perhaps they’re clouded by an obsessive belief in the one thing that’s kept us in perpetual bondage since some fuckwad convinced us it was a good thing…
Bullshit fucking money.
Pieces of paper traded back and forth that have no inherent value.
We’re complete fucking morons, wasting our lives collecting this shit, and engaging in activities no sensible animal would ever consider. And we keep repeating our undesirable routines till the day we die, knowing our paper supplies will never be enough.
Are you ready for a shocker? Humans used to survive without money. Villages used to thrive before the concept was developed. Communities used to care for one another and cooperate as holistic organisms, without a single coin being traded.
You wanna know why I get pissy from time to time, and spout off at the mouth about stuff our “advanced” society doesn’t seem all too interested in?
Cuz I’ve had enough of being a fucking slave.
Why everyone else seems content to play the fucked up game of trading paper dollars is beyond me. If we decided as a group to stop believing in the fiction of wealth, all the bad shit would come to an end.
Yeah, I’m a naive dreamer, I know.
“It’s just not that simple, Mike, to abolish money and selfishness and greed — our world is far too complex.”
Our big brains can reinvent this world in a heartbeat. There’s nothing difficult about caring for one another and making sure each belly gets filled. There’s nothing tough about expending a little energy to build a barn for your neighbour, knowing somewhere down the road they’ll do the same for you.
Our society fucking sucks, and I want off the treadmill.
If no one wants to run away with me, so be it. But I know I ain’t alone in my desire for a harmonious planet. A destructive model can only have one ultimate ending. And no matter how well you cover your ears and sing “lalalalalala” to ignore that truth, it ain’t gonna stop the runaway train from crashing and burning at the end of its track.
We’ve fucked up here. We’re not supposed to live like this.
But change will only come if we do it together.
If assholes want to keep playing “mine, not yours,” then don’t be surprised when the conductor eventually announces the final destination.
Me, I’d rather switch tracks.
Or better yet, never ride another fucking train.
The club car sucked, anyway.
We spend so much of our lives feeling like the world is against us. From jobs to relationships to procuring the necessities of survival, it often feels like we’re constantly battling turbulent waters to reach our shores of happiness.
Most of our perspectives have to do with basic conditioning — learned behaviour adopted from the womb. We’re taught words like “me.” We learn the concept of “I.” We adopt viewpoints that declare “mine, not yours.” The habits that mold our formative years very often stick with us till the day we die.
When it comes to following your passion in this world, it can be pretty tough at times to make ends meet. The lack of cash flow while starting up a new business can be pretty discouraging. Sometimes it takes years or decades to gain any traction in a venture you’re keen on, which leaves many people wondering if the hard work and endless hours are worth it, especially considering the immediate financial kick-backs of the 10,000 menial jobs out there ready for the taking.
But if you spend 60 hours a week slinging donuts and coffee at the local bistro, knowing a dream blazing in your heart is going unfulfilled, how could you possibly end up with a smile on your face when all is done and said?
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It might be a disconcerting thing to leave someone in charge of your animals, and then read a note penned by them on social media, or possibly in a deranged blog post, declaring hatred for the wards in their charge.
I could never do such a thing, as I love all creatures on this planet equally.
But let me ask you this question…
Have you ever had the urge to punch a cat in the face?
Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean this as an action to literally follow through on. I’m just talking about a brief flash of imaginative possibility — wondering how satisfying it might feel to sock Mr. Mittens square in the puss.
Yes, I’m a monster, I know.
What could possibly drive an adult human to consider such ghastly violence against a loveable, helpless creature?
It’s been too long again since a post.
I can give you whatever reason. Other priorities. Unexpected projects. Distraction. Laziness. Rampant heroin use. They all amount to the same thing — excuses.
Though I never declared to myself I would pump out X amount of new writings per week or month, I still feel like I’ve been negligent. And that definitely says something about me.