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A political experiment should be made somewhere preferably in the civilized world: a youth party that runs explicitly on taking from the old. A separate experiment anywhere: a nation providing refuge for youth of other countries fleeing exploitation by olds.
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No solo me niego a ser un "hombre que resuelve": soy un hombre que complica, complejiza y dificulta.
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Society is in a tender in-between state where we’re drifting into a pedestrial battleground of inefficient bumbling crowd cattle, yet still a tad too civilized to embrace third world individualist casual sidewalk violence.
I can feel an underlying rhythmic disruption when forced to be amongst crowds. Through a combination of excessive diversity throwing all psychic collusion into discordance, cell phone era brain rape lobotomizing portions of the population, and ill equipped civil or commercial architecture, we are forced to succumb to the daily humiliation ritual of biological traffic jams.
It happens on the sidewalk. It happens in grocery stores. It happens in business plazas. It happens in parking lots. Each race, class, age, gender, and archetype has its own particular problems that contribute to a purgatorial casserole of minor daily annoyance. When you’re a young actionable man with a sense of direction and purpose, nothing is worse than running up against that wall of ambiguous inertial dampening.
If the average cattle-minded hominid bollard could feel even 10% of the frustration that an actual human being feels when gridlocked by their voluptuous sagging thorax taking up more than half of a grocery store aisle, they would instantly fall over and die from heart failure like a startled hamster.
How could they understand? I can’t even blame them, it must be blissful being so retarded that time is an apparent infinite luxury, death is a vague forgotten concept, life is an expendable gas station snack, and there’s no meaningful sensation in being stuck in the urban waiting rooms that lurk between the places you have to be and the places you want to be.
The liminality is the source of dismay. Journey-not-destination parables are reserved for actual journeys, not the prison pacing of municipal hellscapes that place you into reruns every 3rd day of the week. A just existence would allow you to shove people out of the way, kick them in the square of their back, throw them onto the floor, full force swinging a closed fist into their sternum to watch them keel over wheezing for the act of intruding upon your trajectory with blasphemous ignorance.
Truly, the feudal Japanese aphorisms of samurai killing random passerby’s for sword practice or as punishment for mild inconvenience make much more sense when you’re forced to sit through a shopping cart traffic jam in the intersection of a Costco, seeing elderly Chinese women simulate the same short circuit confusion and lack of surrounding awareness geometry they perform in cars when slowly running over a toddler like a speed bump in the parking lot on their 4th attempt to park in a spot directly in front of them.
As satisfying as it would be to commit acts of random violence, it’s a brutish unsustainable solution that begets far worse indignities upon yourself via the sound of your cellie telling you to throw some water on that turd after you made the mistake of taking a shit after your prison toilet quota of two flushes a day has exceeded and the part of your log floating above the water line is starting to stink.
The only thing you can do is scurry between the throbbing mass like a little rodent climbing over its own kind to scavenge the precious extra minutes you could be spending on slowly killing yourself in front of a screen. A sea bass slips through a hole in a net watching the rest of its entire family get pulled out of material reality to be turned into oil packed cans to be turned into human shit. A man speed walks in between cars and trees to find some brief reprieve in the rhythm of crowds.
Or, of course, you could embrace it. You could close your eyes and shuffle slowly in between the mystery meat roulette of daily human existence. Much like a monk self immolating in stillness, you just phase out the cacophony of alien voices, smells, and obstacles. You no longer have anywhere to be and time doesn’t exist. Enter the great water park lazy river. You float by.
