Bleak yet robust humor abounds in the dismantling of useful society, e.g., creatures powered by natural stupidity naming one of their toys "artificial intelligence"
In the comments section of one of her most recent Substack posts, the lovely Celia Farber (another one of my journalism heroes), and one of her astute readers discussed an engaging rabbit trail thread regarding “them” trying to off her. She discussed how important it was to “them” to get those who won’t drink the Kool-Aid, to off *themselves. They discussed some names I didn’t recognize (I’m largely uncultured) of apparently amazing people of significant impact in the journalism world, whom “they” tormented to the point of getting them to succeed in suicide. Celia alluded to her own battles with “them” trying to make her finish the job of destroying her that they began.
I know I speak in a lot of ignorance here, so I’m open to correction. But personally, until I’m better educated on the matter, I don’t think they want to off us (the resistant) because we cause them suffering--I don’t really think we do to any significant degree. If we did, and that was the only motivation, they could nuke the reddest states (I’m in one), or even just gun us down in the streets. (Something I wouldn’t put past them in 2024/5. We’re not so civilized that we’re safe from that.) We’re pretty easy to spot--we’re not wearing masks while alone in our cars, FFS. We’re not juicing our children, despite free donuts, beers, or gas cards.
So my guess is they torment us, with the intent to do so until driven off the edge to our self-inflicted deaths, simply because it’s fun for them, like a cat torturing the mouse before it finally kills and eats it. Maybe oversimplifying it that way shows my ignorance, but in that case, I’m glad to be ignorant of the ways of evil. I just don’t want to be so ignorant that I’m ignominiously taken out by something I could’ve avoided with just a little less ignorance!
So, when I get very discouraged, and wonder what life would be like if I could move away from the 6 new cell towers just built around my subdivision, and the ringing in my ears is so loud that I can’t hear the birds singing over the tinnitus anymore, and the inflammation in my joints is so intense that I tear cartilage just opening the refrigerator door, I remind myself that staying alive is worthy enough warfare to aggravate them. Even more, so, defending whatever joy I have (or can scrape together) that day, whether it’s a one or a nine on a 0-10 scale--that is the sweetest revenge: not just living, but happy to live, even if done unhappily some days. (If my chosen method seems lame, I admit I’m not a particularly vindictive person--I’m not good at it, and I don’t have the energy for it. Justice and revenge aren’t the same thing anyway, and I will pour my energy into justice.) They want me to believe I can’t win. Maybe I can’t. Too bad for them “winning” isn’t part of my definition of success for myself. Saving as many people as I can by telling them **they’re not crazy** when the clown world is gaslighting them is my definition of success.
BTW, in my first line of this comment, I referred to Celia Farber as “another one” of my journalism heroes, because you and she share that class. You don’t know who I am, or who I influence, and I would say I am certainly no one of any consequence anyway. But when you encourage me--and your writing surely does, because your writing consistently (reliably) tends to be concentrated intellectual honesty--I’m not alone in the way I see things, or the battles I fight the hidden overlords over (to not let them wear me down and take what is most important to me--human dignity), I can keep going to encourage the people I work intensively with in counseling, who raise children I am trying to keep from becoming orphans. And after about 6 degrees of separation of that, who knows whose life you’ve positively impacted, even if you have to write about darkness--difficult, crushing feelings of futility. You’re not dark because you write about darkness--not when you’re the one with the spotlight.
Because futility IS being *weaponized*, to the fullest extent, against us.
I appreciate who you are (as represented in your writing) very much. And what it cost you to be, and become, all I am saying I appreciate about you and your work, now.
In the comments section of one of her most recent Substack posts, the lovely Celia Farber (another one of my journalism heroes), and one of her astute readers discussed an engaging rabbit trail thread regarding “them” trying to off her. She discussed how important it was to “them” to get those who won’t drink the Kool-Aid, to off *themselves. They discussed some names I didn’t recognize (I’m largely uncultured) of apparently amazing people of significant impact in the journalism world, whom “they” tormented to the point of getting them to succeed in suicide. Celia alluded to her own battles with “them” trying to make her finish the job of destroying her that they began.
I know I speak in a lot of ignorance here, so I’m open to correction. But personally, until I’m better educated on the matter, I don’t think they want to off us (the resistant) because we cause them suffering--I don’t really think we do to any significant degree. If we did, and that was the only motivation, they could nuke the reddest states (I’m in one), or even just gun us down in the streets. (Something I wouldn’t put past them in 2024/5. We’re not so civilized that we’re safe from that.) We’re pretty easy to spot--we’re not wearing masks while alone in our cars, FFS. We’re not juicing our children, despite free donuts, beers, or gas cards.
So my guess is they torment us, with the intent to do so until driven off the edge to our self-inflicted deaths, simply because it’s fun for them, like a cat torturing the mouse before it finally kills and eats it. Maybe oversimplifying it that way shows my ignorance, but in that case, I’m glad to be ignorant of the ways of evil. I just don’t want to be so ignorant that I’m ignominiously taken out by something I could’ve avoided with just a little less ignorance!
So, when I get very discouraged, and wonder what life would be like if I could move away from the 6 new cell towers just built around my subdivision, and the ringing in my ears is so loud that I can’t hear the birds singing over the tinnitus anymore, and the inflammation in my joints is so intense that I tear cartilage just opening the refrigerator door, I remind myself that staying alive is worthy enough warfare to aggravate them. Even more, so, defending whatever joy I have (or can scrape together) that day, whether it’s a one or a nine on a 0-10 scale--that is the sweetest revenge: not just living, but happy to live, even if done unhappily some days. (If my chosen method seems lame, I admit I’m not a particularly vindictive person--I’m not good at it, and I don’t have the energy for it. Justice and revenge aren’t the same thing anyway, and I will pour my energy into justice.) They want me to believe I can’t win. Maybe I can’t. Too bad for them “winning” isn’t part of my definition of success for myself. Saving as many people as I can by telling them **they’re not crazy** when the clown world is gaslighting them is my definition of success.
BTW, in my first line of this comment, I referred to Celia Farber as “another one” of my journalism heroes, because you and she share that class. You don’t know who I am, or who I influence, and I would say I am certainly no one of any consequence anyway. But when you encourage me--and your writing surely does, because your writing consistently (reliably) tends to be concentrated intellectual honesty--I’m not alone in the way I see things, or the battles I fight the hidden overlords over (to not let them wear me down and take what is most important to me--human dignity), I can keep going to encourage the people I work intensively with in counseling, who raise children I am trying to keep from becoming orphans. And after about 6 degrees of separation of that, who knows whose life you’ve positively impacted, even if you have to write about darkness--difficult, crushing feelings of futility. You’re not dark because you write about darkness--not when you’re the one with the spotlight.
Because futility IS being *weaponized*, to the fullest extent, against us.
I appreciate who you are (as represented in your writing) very much. And what it cost you to be, and become, all I am saying I appreciate about you and your work, now.