I am writing a book. I followed the advice of a Milton poetry professor. I “tried to find a job to pay bills” for twenty years. I tried to find work. Tell someone you’re a writer while doing stupid jobs so you can eat and clothe yourself. What have you published? Have you read it? How many hundreds of thousands of writers are there today trying to scrape out a market share? I’m doing this for me. I must. It is time. Working title is “Gravity Resist”.
I maxed my school loans going back to school because the craft abandoned writers. The tools permitted the disenfranchisement of a generation of hobblescribblers, local storytellers, and journalists. Now we swim in misinformation. Data. Shit used to make sense. That is a story in itself. Kids don’t play cards “because it’s gambling.” Everything is a trap. The title. Malefice, a prematuration of the intent. The working title is “Fiddlestank”. The working title is “Clock Me Data”.
My work is energizing SQL designed to maximize profit in a system that becomes increasingly inhuman. I take a few deep slow breaths. I let the dominion of our order soak into my janky Kreb’s cycle. Put that in your mRNA and tote it.
We are becoming something subservient to our own tools, our hands. Our species probably hit Terrance McKenna’s fabled Singularity in 2020, and it happened during a pandemic while the world is roasting in the ice-cold fires of a Nuclear Rotisserie. Our meat is so tender. It will fall right off the bone. Putin decided that we need to eat. There is an appetite for horror. Some of us being eaten need a moment to process. Some of us doing the eating are unable to process. We are the Process. I want to write about this.
The billionaires have no incentive to keep civilization from piling over a cliff. This is by design, a careful artifice of unaccountability, dark energy. The blessedly ignorant rich have a stake in this system, but no responsibility to governments, to the cattle. We are in free-fall. Only the very powerful will remain once the global recession due to shake our world takes hold. After Influenza, WWI. After Covid-19, the transformation of the global order. Extinction. i want to write about this, too.
I read a book called Apocalypse Culture that presented a series of artistic works, writing, and groups that seem to resonate with the prospect of violent end to humanity, even life itself. It was grim. People who believe in that shit sort of make way for its potential. I read the sequel to Apocalypse Culture. It made me interested in physiology. These are two of the hundreds of books I have read. I may have read a thousand. I drank a lot of caffeinated pop in grade school. I read a lot of Bukowski after that. Now I just read research papers and trashy newspapers. A little deep, a little shallow. My capacity for outrage has been monetized.
The place is important in demonstrating the need of a thing. Things need places. If a thing is “out-of-place”, then it is simply broadcasting the need for displacement. What is this place now? What was this place then? I exist in a physical and a virtual space simultaneously. History creeps. It lays claim to the future. The future unfolds, but not “as it will”. It’s a game. You can fuck it up. It takes a second to wreck it, it takes time to build.” However, when our physical environments are in play when the architecture turtles all the way down, there is no “place” anymore. There are scaled instances. I want to write about momentum of light in perturbed QCD. I just don’t write about it. I keep it light.
My point is that I feel like people stuck in this world have become homogenized, including me. I am unable to agree with “a paradigm” that can “unify the world”. In sorrow, we perish. Maybe we can do just fine without any overarching paradigm grading our social interactions and micromanaging our weekend leisure. We live in a giant glass prison, but we are split into factions that war over grievances. Everyone sees us. We know we are visible. We move like lizards in a pet shop display case. Same wall. Same wall. Same wall. Ugly big primate faces. Same wall. When the global banking system got all jacked up on internetz in the 1990s, it neglected to maintain order. Profit over people is not a curse. it’s the design! Our global feudalism has no shortage of Machiavellii. There is a greater potential for both order and disorder. Also, the traditionally permafrosted Arctic is releasing bacteria locked away for millions of years. Right over a cliff, Thelma and Louis style. We hold hands. They will find us this way.
I went back to school to study robotics, but I maxed my school loans. Ever hear of a roboticist with a BS? I was abandoned by this system. There are so many people like me who care little for their job, but care a lot about things that cannot make them a living.
I graduated on Dean’s List. Guess who cares. My kids, my family, and no one else. Well, half my family doesn’t care either. Trump converted half my families into the hydrochloroquine-guzzling dupes that haunt my dreams. So, I am back to the original fail point, the abandonment of my first degree after the second degree netted me less money than I was making when I had one degree. Maybe if I wrote a book, just one, I could have some credibility. Well, I wrote a book. How’d it do? Awful. What a waste. As Tom Waits said, “A gentleman is a person who can play the accordion but doesn’t.” This is the exact reason why Miles Davis is important. There was a lot of stuff he didn’t need to play.
If only my struggle had anything to do with integrity. The struggle is all I have to show. Why write about that? The internet showed me how little I deviate from the norm. A cisgender white guy with dad moves is probably the last thing we need now. But a demented cisgender white guy with a Taoist streak. Well, that’s ultravaping the prototurds of eternity.
That is where my story ends, and this one begins, with a biweekly installment beginning Friday. I am writing the story now. I actually had a different announcement earlier, but the internetz broke, autosave froze, and I lost the shit about playing music and feeling vulnerable and stuff like that. A story of love an adventure.
Fifty State Banana 