Noam Chomsky: The Dimming Prospects for Human Survival

“To put it bluntly, in the moral calculus of today's capitalism, a bigger bonus tomorrow outweighs the fate of one's grandchildren.”

I can't help but wonder if this modern time-bound carelessness is a result of the Western reappropriation of mystic Eastern philosophies into orthodox, hollow self-help guruism. Albeit, 'living in the now' is an important virtue to practice if one can read the statement between it's every line; but could it be that humanity is using the New Age interpretation of 'nowism' in a Freudian sense, giving an innocent thought and intuition dangerous creedence and affirmation in the morally degraded limelight of advert-culture (better known as 'public relations')?

How shallowly and carelessly this cultural 'nowism' is flaunted does not bode well for the salvation of the human race as anything more than a fad. I have studied Eastern mysticism and religion long enough to know that 'living in the now' implies a non-denial of fear, worries for the future, and the occasional flood of bleak hopelessness throughout every extremity of the body. It implies an unconditional acceptance in such a way as to make one a blatant hypocrite in the field of theory and rational interpretation, and yet in proper flow with the 'Tao' from its highest pole of absolute delight and calm acceptance, into its depths of burnt-bone despair and coinciding fear of human pettiness. It is the acceptance of one and all as both an angel and a demon. To keep blind faith in the goodness of humanity is to deny the possibility for evil and to be defeated by it once witnessed. To stay blindly angry and bitter over the human race and deny its level of implied goodness and purity as a cynic is to deny omnipotent love and the largely well-intentioned actions of most of the race. The cynic, more than anything, hopes to be proven wrong. But will always deny what is right in front of them when being 'proven wrong' seems imminent. Ignorance is bliss, and to trap yourself within the limited confines of optimism or pessimism is to remain intrinsically tied to ideology. Western Zen, or, as I prefer to call it: 'nowism,' is an ideology.

And ideology is the reason humanity is about to perish. It has always been our number one threat as a race.

“Instead of simply telling students of Zen that they cannot control the mind, the Master must show them. So he tells them all to eliminate desire through different denunciatory practices. They go about doing so in different ways, whether it is simple self-denial or full-on retreats into hermitage deep within a forest or mountain range, bringing only the bare necessities to the point of very much starving themselves. And then, after months of practice, they return to the Master and he says, “Have you discovered the truth yet?”

Some of the students may rant on about transcendental experiences and having realized a ‘great truth,’ but then the Master laughs and says, “It was all in vain. You still desired not to desire.”

And, in annoyance, one student asks, “Master, how is it that we cease our desire not to desire?” And all the Master has to say in response is, “Ah, well, now you get it.”"

30/03/2014 self-anthropological field notes

Usually I can't write inside my own home.

So I'm not. I write while I sit on the back step of my basement suite, looking outwards onto the pristinely cut middle-class lawn, partitioned at the base of two sheds to separate us from our vertical neighbours. There's a floral-patterned white sheet blissfully dazing softly in the mellow breeze. I can hear seagulls, lawn mowers, laundry ventilation, and lifting aircraft in the distance. Birds chirp on all sides. My slightly-mutilated iPhone sits atop my newest intellectual fling-book: Native Peoples and Cultures of Canada. Karen Armstrong's A History of God sits to the left of an empty plastique of Canada Dry ginger ale.

I work in 2 hours, give or take a few minutes, meaning I have to be showered and ready to go within an hour and a half. I, in part, desire a cigarette to celebrate a day like this (slightly haunted by the visage of flooded nicotine butts in a cup we have utilized as an ash tray, an empty pack of Canadian Classics from a potluck we hosted upwards of 2 months ago lies patiently at the other end of the outside table) as these are the times I find best to choose the smoke-aesthetic over the phantasmal possibility of longevity.

I am getting hours enough between Chapters and the Clay Pigeon, but when isolated into one or the other, it makes me worried that my foothold in both is precarious, at best. Tonight I intend to approach my boss at the Clay Pigeon and kindly (yet assertively) let him know that I'm going to need at least 3 nights a week at this restaurant if I am going to comfortably survive. If hours don't start picking up likewise at Chapters, I will have to kindy assert myself in the same way 2 weeks from now. Of course; I did only start there again about a week ago, so I'll give it a little time for the dust to settle before I start pressing hierarchical buttons.

Jen is reading her new book in my bedroom (Scar Tissue by the lead singer of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers). We both slept late for having remained up until the wee hours of the morning partaking in psychonautic adventures to the antipodes of the mind. Tomorrow morning, I start work at 11:30 at Chapters, so I am thankful for melatonin and let's hope it works this time around.

About a week ago now, I tried to quit using the antidepressant I am on cold turkey. Although my mood felt much more stable in the wake of the sudden cut, I experienced some of the typical (yet disturbing) withdrawal effects which go hand-in-hand with a daily habit of chemical ingestion. I experienced the strangely intriguing skin-wave medically known as 'brain zaps,' in which an occasional pulse will ricochet most prominently within the skull, yet dipping to every other extremity of the body in a fashion that the name accurately conveys; it's like a great big static shock throughout the entirety of the brain (as a source point) which moves in surrealist shock waves through the rest of the body as if I had been fooling around with a wet fork in my teeth and an open electrical socket.

As well as I could understand and as much as the limited research on the phenomenon could tell me, it's just my synapses blazing off in a fashion that implies the continued assistance of the chemical intervention. Due to the lack of escitalopram, the 'brain zaps' are the brain in spaced-out confusion assuming the chemical is still present to 'zap' from one-end synapse to another.

I ended up going to a pharmacy for an emergency dose of 5 pills a couple days ago, as I soon learned that, although the withdrawal symptoms do dissipate over time, there is a chance that going cold turkey can cause a 'snap-back' effect in which the brain will return to its prior state of chemical imbalance (depression and anxiety in my case). Not wanting to risk this, I am instead cutting my dose at intervals of 3 days to slowly wean off in a way my chemistry can manage. The first three days, I cut my dose by 15% and bit off (give or take) 75% of a pill. On the fourth day, I cut 25% and only bit half. Today is my last day of a 50% dose before I cut another 15-25%. At this rate, it shouldn't be much less than a week before I am completely off the drug.

There is plenty more to say; but these are my field-notes for today. I've got to get ready for work.

Huzzah, blue planet.

particularly EVERYWHERE

It's been far too long since I have, in any respect, updated the readers of my blogsphere to what I have been up to and where the hell I've been in the last 3 or 4 months. Many of you may well have picked out intimate details via my stream-of-consciousness prose posted at occasional intervals over the past while, but it still has certainly not been enough to fill in the blanks.

To begin: the stream-of-consciousness prose paragraphs and pages I've been publishing have been parts of a poetically-licensed autobiographical work I've began writing titled: The Mystic Hat of Esquimalt. The 'Mystic Hat' derives from my eternal affinity with toques of different style, pattern, and design.. and the intimate relationship which begins to form between said toque(s) and I as a result (at least in terms of how they each affect my self-image and contribute to a betterment in my self-confidence due to my unusually irrational insecurities regarding my hair). It is written in a style heavily influenced by famous Beat author Jack Kerouac (for those of you who are somehow not familiar with him, his most famous works include On the Road, The Dharma Bums, and Big Sur). It may be a naive and young affinity with Kerouac's irresponsibility, alcoholism, and brilliance.. but he was the first author to truly wake me and cause me to feel a work 'in my bones;' as opposed to reading him, I witness the flow of his words and feel him in the most intimate and subliminal of ways. As such, I am attempting to achieve the same sort of effect in my writing, but in a modern context which takes into account the effects (positive, negative, or otherwise) of modern culture-concurrences like the internet, vast technological integration, antidepressants, sedatives, psychedelics, and, as I like to call it, the 'beautiful melancholy of the digital paper.'

For those not familiar with what 'Esquimalt' means, or as to where it is, it's the township I've been living in since the end of October 2013. After moving to Victoria on August 9th of the same year, my attempts to live completely on my own quickly caught up to my financial neglects and inabilities. I convinced a friend to move down to the city and live with me so we could split the costs and, after sleeping in my living room for almost a month in my one-bedroom suite in Quadra Village (located between Downtown Victoria and the University of Victoria), we found a basement suite in the adjacent Township of Esquimalt that was within a realistic price-range. Although the both of us had preferred not to live in Esquimalt (as it is slightly out of the way, plus not quite as enthralling as the Downtown core or periphery), it was the only option we had at the time and, as such, we took it. We have both grown to love the place to some degree.. however I, personally, have a desire to eventually vacate the area in favour of a neighbourhood within or in proximity to Downtown.

Regardless of my general indifference to Esquimalt, it is only a 10 minute bus ride from Victoria proper, and does indeed have plenty of beautiful things about it. It's a strange blended mix between the poor, the addicted, the well-off, and the retired. Along most of Esquimalt Road, one gets the impression that a good percentage of the Townships residents are living off EI, Disability Assistance, or a meagre welfare income. Not that I wish to generalize or make it seem as if they are less for this observed impression.. just that it often gives off an air of melancholic defeat by forces of economy and social convention greater than oneself. There is very little 'victory' in the air, I suppose.

That being said, it also fades into homey areas which bode a grandmotherly or grandfatherly vibe, with British-style colonial housing from the late 19th and early 20th centuries acting as confirmation of comfortable pensioners mellowly enjoying the twilight years of their lives. It is also home to areas overlooking a pristinely mysterious ocean, such as Macaulay Point. These are my areas of preference on the rare occasions when I finally work-up the motivation to go on a jog. 'Esquimalt,' as a word, is usually translated to "place of the shoaling waters." It originates from a name for the area ("Ess-whoy-malth") that the Songhee's people coined in what Kerouac would assume to be a 'primordial era of glowing impressions' or some such poetic subliminality. The area is also home to the Pacific fleet of the Royal Canadian Navy, with the naval base itself being a literal 7 minute walk from my front door.

Somehow, my move to the neighbourhood played into the cult-of-personality and personal 'mythologising' echoed by my new group of close friends. A good friend of mine one-day coined me as the 'mystic hat of Esquimalt,' and the name stuck, as both an official 'nickname' of sorts, and an appropriate name for my novel. As is, the novel is in a state of limbo due to my moody and sensitive nature; my assumption that the novel will never be good enough, among the throng of other artistic disturbances very familiar to one who puts their soul to the light for the world to see.

I have been oversaturating myself, as well, in the never-ending expletive flow of current events, paying attentive and detailed attention to the developing situation in the Ukraine; the fall of Yanukovych to the Euro Maidan movement, the subsequent pro-Russian protests, and the out-of-left-field annexation of the Crimea by Putin and his administration following a referendum in which 95% of participating Crimean voters cast in favor of joining the Russian Federation. Said referendum, however, is seen as having been illegal by the majority of Western powers, the interim Ukrainian government, and the ethnic minorities within the peninsula itself. Russia now poses a very real military threat to the rest of the Ukraine, where the eastern half hosts a large ethnically Russian population which Putin may say need to be 'defended,' and will thus justify further territorial incursions to the theorised point in which he could push as far southwest as Moldova and absorb the pro-Russian Soviet ghost-state of Transnistria. Whether or not this is even a possibility remains to be seen.

Around the world, everyone has had their eyes glued to the sky and the ocean in search of Malaysian flight MH370. From wild fringe-theories including aliens and some sort of Bermuda Triangle scenario, to more benign assumptions such as a fire in the cockpit that choked out the pilots and caused them to lose contact before crashing somewhere in the Indian Ocean or the jungles of Malaysia, the entire situation has quickly become one of the greatest mysteries in aviation history. For the sake of why-the-hell-not, I'll delve into my fringe-theory regarding what may have happened (I am by no means saying this has occurred at all).

Remember the mass-stabbings of civilians at the Kunming rail station in the Yunnan province of China earlier this month? Chinese state-television blamed it on secessionist militants from the contested northwest province of Xinjiang, in which the ethnically native Uyghur people have been massively repressed by Chinese authorities for the past few decades. Islamic extremists apparently run rampant in the area, going so far as leading to sword attacks on police officers attempting to 'keep the peace.' Since roughly the beginning of a centralised communist China, the authorities have been flooding all the contested provinces (including Tibet) with Han Chinese. Such a colonial influx has the obvious consequence of nullifying 'referendums' of any legitimacy, as well as effectively neutering the natives of said areas of any meaningful representation. This causes Tibetan Buddhists to resort to radical protest in the form of self-immolation, and the ethnic Uyghurs to use physical violence against Chinese authorities, targeting military, police, and bureaucratic institutions.

My impression of the Kunming stabbing spree is that it was a false-flag operation on the part of the Chinese government to justify further repressive measures in Xinjiang. Once again: this is all wild speculation on my part, so please take what I'm saying with a grain of salt.

Malaysian airlines flight MH370 was flying from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing when it went missing. Many Chinese citizens were on board when the plane mysteriously disappeared into thin air. It is my batshit crazy assumption that the plane will eventually show up (whether as a functional whole with everyone alive, or as a shattered wreck), and the entire incident will somehow be tied back to Islamic extremism. The Chinese state-media may assert that it was the work of violent Islamic separatists from Xinjiang province, and thus justify further repressive measures by authorities in the region.

Honestly though, I really don't know. But it's certainly food for thought, and another fringe theory to add to the thousands already accumulated throughout intellectual circles the world over. The thing is: the plane could be as far as Kazakhstan, and even if it isn't Uyghur separatists, there is some speculation as to if it might have some tie to al Qaeda or the Taliban, potentially having landed somewhere in Afghanistan with all 239 passengers being kept hostage for one socio-religious objective or another. I guess we'll all know for sure in 2016 when it's finally aired as a subject on the History Channel. The obvious assertion will be that it must have been taken by an alien force from Alpha Centurai (the same aliens that helped us build the Pyramids of Giza and the lost city of Atlantis).

As well as all this playing-the-crazy-witness, my girlfriend of 3 months will be moving in with my roommate and I in mid-April. It's a leap of faith on both our parts, but seems like the right choice at this point, and makes the most sense in terms of economy. She is from Florida, and wishes to potentially put school on hold for a year or two to figure herself out and work in Canada. As of now, she is still waiting on the acceptance of her application for a work permit, but we're both sure it won't be much longer.

I am still very much in debt to multiple companies and friends, but will soon be able to start making larger payments with the financial alleviation provided by my girlfriends move. I recently re-obtained my job as a Customer Experience Representative (CER) at the Chapters bookstore downtown (which I am massively excited about, seeing as combining work with books and fantastic co-workers is a recipe for a very important form of happiness). I also work as a part-time dishwasher at a gourmet restaurant in the same area called the Clay Pigeon. The people I work with are stellar, friendly, and very intelligent. They also have a very good sense of humor, and this, combined with the meditation of the dish-pit and one ear perpetually plugged into podcasts ranging in topic from current events to Terence McKenna make it a job I don't plan on leaving anytime soon. If I can combine my part-time evening shifts at the Clay Pigeon with my part-time floor shifts at Chapters to get somewhere in the range of 30 to 40 hours a week, I will be a very happy camper for the next little while (providing I can still make time for my art and the band I am starting with a couple good friends.. as well as exercise, which I don't get enough of).

This sums-up a satisfactory-enough synopsis of what my life has been like for the past while, and as a result, I hope you all feel an inch closer to enlightenment. I've forgotten how therapeutic and relaxing blogging can be, so I believe I'll be returning to it as much as I can afford time to as the spring and summer months roll on.

One love, blue planet. I'll see you as soon as I look up from this screen.

All societies must be based on a basic sense of human empathy.

This dictates prosperity (as measured in contentedness and general satisfaction with life), social and individual longevity, and how successful a given society will be in fending-off the constant threat of totalitarianism.

The modern world is a world of man-made tragedy; upon what we believe to be our own free will we are ushered into self-bondage and creative self-destruction. The virtues of totalitarianism show themselves in the fact that, capitalism, as an ideology born of existential nihilism, creates material and neutral mid-points (such as currency) which rule over us in lieu of Hitler's, Richard II's, and Kim Jong-Il's. In totalitarianism the choice is black and white; you can either fight the obvious power, or you can join it. The power has emotions which can be grouped as malicious or benevolent, creative or destructive, good or bad. The power has an implied morality and thus a meaning, whereas in capitalism, one can fight it yet find themselves feeding it with open hands. One can battle and realize they're battling no one but themselves. In the face of obvious moral wrong, the practitioner of capitalism can shrug and state that the fault lies in the rule of outward circumstance falsely and abstractly represented via modern finance and economy and, in doing so, can state that it is nobodies fault. It's simply the 'way things are.'

As a form of social organization, capitalism arranges resources and the whole of humanity in such a way as to create 'winners' and 'losers.' As the rich get richer, the poor get poorer; as the winners keep winning, the losers keep losing. Everybody lives in their own abstract economy which creates an illusory bubble in the mind segregating the raw honesty of the world into 'mine' and 'not-mine;' altering what should and is implicitly understood into something which becomes explicitly stated and thus clunky, inefficient, and enslaving. 

In the modernized mind, it is often a point taken for granted that, on its subliminal and basic level, the world is a dark, terrible place full of murder, strife, war, and death. Although this is a half-truth, it is not the full truth, and the level to which this truth has been affected by the mutuality of reality and concept is so socially unconscious that many's modern perceptions are affected by hear-say and headlines as opposed to the good and neutral seen on a daily basis. It is a given, despite the degradation of the modern intuition to the contrary, that the good practiced, accepted, and generally carried out far outweighs the bad as significantly as the Pacific Island of Vanuatu is surrounded by the seemingly endless drift of ocean itself. In a moral context, of course, the good does indeed require the bad to prove its virtue. 

If one were to moralize the world and the universe in its entirety, one would find mostly neutral and good. The negative is something that the human mind finds near-unfathomable; basically impossible in its very existence. It is as such that the intellectualized mind is fascinated with it, and easily overwhelmed by its crush of nihilistic strangeness, finding in it a vortex of disbelief created out of a lack of acceptance (which, in itself, is one of the many manifestations of negativity which one must hypocritically learn to accept). 

This fascination, in which one is constantly stating, “I can't believe this has or could occur!,” is advertised in the bombardment of modern media culture, now globalized to establish the individual mind as a sort of phantasmal battlefield between good intentions and meaningless harm. 

Instability.

Keyword: instability.

Mid-May and the room has a blue cold, runny nose, condensation clasping the window like a quiet leech. Through the narrow chinks of my cavern, I can glimpse a computer surrounded by world in peripheral; fish eye vision like religious fervor, I realize life has made a lasting impression on whatever I am.

whatever I am. 

Dream fades to life, life fades to dream, some alien language crash landed on Earth and now we all speak English (except, you know, the ten thousand other dialects all branched from the Indo-European earth worm). People like to say that everything changes. Nothing stays the same. Doesn't the fact of change never change? Does that not make constants a possibility, even if only within the Many Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Physics (capitalized! it's a name and 'Quantum Physics' likes playing the smiling subtitle ( :) ) ) now I wasn't in Copenhagen the day a jury of physicists decided on Reality; but I was in Reality (capital R) so I'm sure that counts for something.

They say they don't know who 'they' is; as if a brief allusion to a greater network somehow invalidates the point (but 'they' is the 'you' you decide to ignore; the 'you' composite of influences 'you' simply grew around; 'they' is the part of yourself 'you' keep tucked away comfortably like a newborn child that doesn't know any better).

contextual rant (old)

Everything is in context. You can't tell a member of the 'first world' that they should feel good about their predicament regarding 'trivial' matters by stating, “others have it worse. Look at the starving Ethiopians or the embattled and shattered populations of Syria. Don't they have it terribly? Don't you feel better about your situation now?”

The whole social contrast of 'at least you're not here' or 'at least you're not him/her' is a completely sadistic and deprecating way to appeal to misfortune in the modern world. The appeal that 'someone else has it worse than you' is only important in the context of realizing what needs to be changed. The fact that someone has it worse than you should NOT be something that makes you sigh in relief. For example.. someone complains the rent is too high, and the traditional retort is, 'well, just be thankful that you aren't homeless and sleeping on a sidewalk.' Whew! Thank God someone is collapsing to their knees from hunger and struggling through a solid 8 hours of slumber amidst the drunken screams of club-goers and late-night adventurers remaining deliberately indifferent and ignorant to their very existence and plight for basic subsistence.

If we were to level the playing field (as it should be- lift the lower classes into the happy medium of comfort + subsistence, knock the upper classes off their high-horse of excess and into the same rational category), we wouldn't have to retain or develop a logical compassion for each individuals plight in the social context provided by their monetary net worth and/or material 'successes' as measured individuals. The fact that we live in a society which harbours the deadbeat and immoral ability to let you starve to death on the street or.. conversely.. accrue irrational and entirely unnecessary amounts of monetary symbolism and luxurious excess is the root of the 'first world problem'.. itself being nothing more than a single symptom of a much greater disease present within our society and within each of us as solitary individuals who become more and more estranged to the world and universe around us as the cancer of capital indifference spreads nearly unchecked.

The whole cultural narrative is to simply demand that each person 'get over it,' whatever 'it' might be... showcasing the underlying zeitgeist of forced apathy which allows the system to proliferate and flourish as-is. 'Get over it.. move past your failed relationship, forget about her. Forget about the collapsing ice-shelves, the endless development of strip malls and economic colonialism the world over.' Should we not, instead, be telling people to give a shit? To wake up and care about things within the vicinity of their own personal lives enough to fix them? How can we expect us, as a species and as a generation, to wake up and work towards a solution in the greater scheme of things if we're telling them to submit to the inconvenient roadblocks presented by life?

“It is above as it is below.” You care for both.. or neither. What you present in your microcosm will be reflected 10 fold in the macrocosm.

“Am I a part of the cure? Or am I part of the disease?”

Tuesday, December 4th, 2012, Powell River, British Columbia, Canada (8:17 AM)

So, it's only the beginning of the week and I've already been up and down. Yesterday I felt myself in a trapped square of 'consequential' exhaustion, which reminded me how unfree I was in the fact that I couldn't simply take an hour to lie down. I felt like the pure deliberation of life was sucked away.

The childhood love of delineated exploration and pure poetic feeling is gone to the average working adult. I get glimpses of it on very relaxing weekends, and on nice mornings staring at golden orange clouds waiting for the bus.. but then I consider the fact that I cannot just follow a trail to sit under the clouds to adoringly rest and meditate, otherwise i put my livelihood on the line. It feels like such an absolute and complete oppression, when my nature and THE nature is denied.

How many 'logical' arguments could be made in the favor of livelihood as opposed to true life? Plenty.

Logic and reason have distorted the reality we once inhabited as children. Not only that.. we live our lives on the basis of logical reason, causing war, manipulation, nihilism.. and then we try in vain to solve those same problems with logical reason, unaware that doing so is standing on the same fucking ground and pushing 2 futile chess pieces back and forth.

The solution to war, manipulation, and nihilism lies outside of a compromise with logic and reason. It lies in also not ignoring the evils of modern everyday livelihood with a 'well, what are you gonna do? Gotta work to live.'

I head to work as I write these words, and know I'm going to be pushing myself harder than I ever would if I had a choice. I take responsibility in the name of symbolism; in the name of logical abstraction which has lost nature, thus causing a gap only solvable my radicalism; whether the radicalism of denying society and dropping out, or the radicalism of destroying society to start from square one.

The idea of 'time' I find to be the most incredible of oppressions. I book off 80% of my current present to a place I would still not rather be, when I could be doing so much more for myself and the world if I had the freedom to do so and didn't live under the paradigm of pain-is-temporary, pride-is-forever. When I see worker-bees, I see cowards afraid of true life and true death. They waste their lives trying to secure an unguaranteed amount of 'time,' by wasting their 'time.' Then they try to make sure they work for the upkeep and survival of their children by abandoning their children at a daycare or school, only to lord their 18 to 20 years of work for their benefit over their heads when they come of age to force them license to follow in the same footsteps. This gives people the disgusting and reprehensible choice between freedom or family, as if they can't have both; because, in the modern world, you really can't have both unless you're willing to go to incredible lengths not supported by your cultural operating system to do so.

There are niches in the modern world, each being different to every individual.. in my case, investigative journalism is the freedom niche I aspire too.. but only a certain demographic fulfill such dreams, and in doing so, modern society forces them to condemn thousands more to far less than their potential or want. Because if you and I are going to be investigative journalists, someone still has to pick up our garbage, right? Someone still has to serve us at the counter, right?

Personally, I believe dependencies on such positions are the result of an intricate web of confusion, abstraction, and redundancy that could be solved in a revamped society; however, I won't address that here.

Everything I ever suspected about jobs prior to ever getting one has been 100% correct, and the further I plunge into the world of the working man, the more glad I am I avoided a job as long as I did. With attitudes such as, 'it's not that bad,' it was easy to see I was condemning myself to something obligatorily dark, deep, and bloody depressing.. creating a physical reality backed up by far-reaching symbolism which forces you to sludge through unnatural depression, exhaustion, and force in order to survive.. and if you are strong enough to resist the pain of the proletarian, you may come out successful with dreams fulfilled on the other side of the minefield. Others get so overwhelmed and taken by the invasive and violent darkness and they tumble into it for the rest of their lives, having lost the will to attempt climbing out.

Even looking at the bright beautiful sky in the distance while sitting on the bus on my way to an 8 hour shift, I know as an absolute certainty that there is a gross injustice being carried out against me and the rest of the human race.

I guess that's all I've really got to say.

I just feel like I'm treading on a sidewalk of soap.