Courtesy Flush

I was wandering today. In truth, it was more like astral projection than it was putting a pedometer to task. I went nowhere; I saw not much. But I did see these words:

“I am trying something new…”

I can’t attribute them; they showed up as an excerpt created by a robot to highlight something else (I don’t know what). This is perhaps confusing. If you’re familiar with fumbling around on the internet, you should have a limbic-or-higher understanding of how garbage is fed into your internet diet. If that metaphor didn’t help, think of it as road-side advertising.

We (humanity) are crouched on the edge of a bowl. Beneath us swirls all the awful offal. This morass is composed of everything you can think of: all the -isms and -ologies are mixed in. All philosophy rots there. So does a tax return, the receipt from that last tank of gas, and probably some recycled concrete from a defunct airport runway.

Every tiny detail we’ve clutched to steer our vessel or mortar our home into sense and meaning is decomposing in the bowl. Our existential dread is based on that mess of shit below. Our existential dread is in that mess of shit below.

It reeks.

I read an article, more of a rant really, on the death throes of capitalism. The theme, if there was one, was simply that we are witnessing it (and maybe we’ll still exist after).

When something we rely on dies, we get sick, infections are rampant, and there’s a whole mess of collateral damage until the loss resolves… or everything just fucking fails and it ceases to be meaningful.

But that’s the normal cycle of life. Survival exists in those words: “I am trying something new…”