Don't Invest In The Future...
I was struck recently by a crushing moment when I realized that my actual impact on things in general is almost exactly the same as that of the obese christian family that now live above me. I still waste my life stuck in traffic. I still stare at the internet for hours while the warm sun is shining. I still prostitute my days away for chump change, never to have them back.
I find the question of my place and my purpose as tough as ever in these final days. Federal prison is a bad place to be when the food shipments stop rolling, but I feel like I'm wasting my time if I'm just languishing in the prison of suburbia while I wait for the end.
And what of the end? What happens at the nuclear energy plant when the operators stop coming to work? Can we just bundle up plutonium and uranium like kidnapped babies and rock them to sleep again deep in the depths of the Earth and tell them we're sorry for waking them up? How ironic would it be to survive the carnage and starvation, skirt the shrieking screams of the crash, and arrive hide-clad on the mountain, only to watch your grandchildren die from the poisons of a society they never laid their eyes on. I guess you could say you at least gave them that.
But will we ever even arrive on that mountian, draped in buckskin, ready to forget a world where we never belonged? Will we ever sit by the fire and teach our children about the plague that almost destroyed the world? Or will we just keep paying our bills and signing our leases and taking out loans and driving our cars and never realize that IF THIS ISN'T BAD ENOUGH TO MAKE US LEAVE, NOTHING EVER WILL BE.
I find the question of my place and my purpose as tough as ever in these final days. Federal prison is a bad place to be when the food shipments stop rolling, but I feel like I'm wasting my time if I'm just languishing in the prison of suburbia while I wait for the end.
And what of the end? What happens at the nuclear energy plant when the operators stop coming to work? Can we just bundle up plutonium and uranium like kidnapped babies and rock them to sleep again deep in the depths of the Earth and tell them we're sorry for waking them up? How ironic would it be to survive the carnage and starvation, skirt the shrieking screams of the crash, and arrive hide-clad on the mountain, only to watch your grandchildren die from the poisons of a society they never laid their eyes on. I guess you could say you at least gave them that.
But will we ever even arrive on that mountian, draped in buckskin, ready to forget a world where we never belonged? Will we ever sit by the fire and teach our children about the plague that almost destroyed the world? Or will we just keep paying our bills and signing our leases and taking out loans and driving our cars and never realize that IF THIS ISN'T BAD ENOUGH TO MAKE US LEAVE, NOTHING EVER WILL BE.