Misanthropy

I'm not in the environmentalist "humans vs. Gaia" camp; I don't believe in woo, nor do I care about issues I'll be dead before seeing. That's exactly why I'm sick of people. Sick of this godforsaken website I come to far too often, only because the list of websites I visit has shrunk, along with the Internet, along with society. It's shrunk from self-reflection, from sincerity, from integrity and become a small, hollow thing: s** jokes, offense archaeology, and a Cartesian fatigue so overwhelming people center their lives around whatever f****** show Netflix s**** out rather than make something of themselves. And don't give me the fatal coin that killed God and brought the 1990s to a close: life is meaningless BUT you can make your own meaning in it! No. False. Life is an inconclusive thing, so inconclusive you can't even enjoy futility; humans are horrible creatures, whose idea of enlightened, individual meaning is "being the same as every other person". The stages change--I have more respect for people who live in the woods, Ted Kaczynski-style. But he was, as much as I hate to say it, just another archetype: the iconoclast. The doctrinaire madman, whose prescriptions, though accurate, are just that: prescribed. Ossified, rigid, and DOA, because everything which is defined is dead. That's why the only struggle is against struggle itself, and when you've gotten that meta, concatenated meaning so much: it's over. What are you supposed to do? Slink back to soma and propaganda and government overreach and conspiracy theorizing which leads nowhere because the grand conspiracy is that there IS NO CONSPIRACY? People never realize any of this. I've never talked to another individual whom I found capable of realizing this. Some get, again, to those high levels. I know a person or two who'll probably be mailing out some bombs come ten years' time. But no one, no one besides myself, understands how monumentally f***** we all are. And so I'm forced to conclude people are either fundamentally ignorant, and thus not worth my time, or something worse: unable, perhaps even unwilling, to come to this realization and propagate it. Because you want to keep frying your dopamine receptors? Because you enjoy fake laughter, empty peals? Keep your chains on.

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