I live in a world I don’t understand.
I had an epiphany. I suspected that the world had changed. At what point did things go wrong? Did the price of milk reach some terrible Event Horizon? Who is to blame for this?
The world had not changed. I had changed.
If you want to see change, study erosion. Away from the shoreline, the world doesn’t change. Human existence is hardly a pimple on the cock of geological time. Far greater beasts than us have walked this rock and perished.
I felt like I was skidding into a wall at high speed. I could see the crash coming, but I couldn’t do a fucking thing to stop it. It was unacceptable.
I realized I was not in a place I wanted to be. That I wasn’t the person I wanted to be. I wasn’t content waiting for something to happen. I was willing to do whatever it took . . .
So I made a phone call.
When I made the decision I was motivated. I was ready to crawl through concertina wire that same day. Unfortunately, things don’t work out that fast.
I stood outside of a bar. I listened while someone explained to me that the mentally handicapped no longer prefer the term Special.
They are Consumers.
In the search for a non-offensive term, they found a word more offensive than retard. “Consumer” is a dehumanizing term. It identifies a person as a mere means, and implies some intention to separate the consumer from their cash by selling them “goods or services”.
Consumers are cattle. Sheep. Lemmings. Consumers are led by advertising. Viral marketing campaigns. They watch a movie trailer and tell their friends, “Yeah, that’s supposed to be good!”
Consumers are retards.
I hate consumers.
They sit in their offices, wedged into some niche in a bureaucracy. They think their bullshit title or their make-believe authority means something. They look down their noses at people who perform a trade, or go home dirty at the end of the day.
Some jerkoff in a shirt and tie gave me a dirty look when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. Apparently he found the state of my work clothes objectionable.
Judging from the state of his clothes, he hadn’t done any work. I wanted to confront him. There was something ugly in his glance.
Too stupid to get ahead.
Too lazy to work a real job.
Too many tattoos . . .
In a world that made sense, men like that would not be in positions of authority. Their authority is derived from some place in a human paper shuffle. They are clerks. There is no authority in that.
Authority is derived from force. Obey the law or men with guns will come for you. Heed the Lord Thy God, or He’ll Smite your ass.
In a world that made sense, men with guns would not heed the authority of clerks. They are threatened with their jobs. With their pensions. With health-care. They do the bidding of the PowerPoint Wizard for the sake of their bellies . . .
In a world that made sense, Men would not kowtow to cripples and slaves. People whose power lies in manipulating some byzantine paper chase.
Submit a form.
Wait in line.
Please hold . . .
In a world that made sense the weak would not rule the strong.