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Less is More in More’s Utopia

In working backwards through classics of Utopian literature, especially satires, I started with Erewhon (enjoyed it), did Gulliver’s Travels (LOVED it!), and now onto a collection called Three Early Modern Utopias put out by Oxford Classics (which does excellent print editions if you’re looking for old books).

Almost finished with Thomas More’s Book One of Utopia. I have to admit, that first book is extremely slow and boring. And we don’t even get the punchy Effect of capitalizing Nouns we get in Swift. It’s just like weird archaic language with basically no story, leading up to discussion of the actual (not actual) island called Utopia. The first book is kind of a Mirrors for Princes genre-piece. Honestly, I was expecting both Erewhon and Gulliver to be boring like this, but they totally weren’t (at least not after the narrator arrives in Erewhon proper, it’s a little slow up to that).

Anyway, there’s a lot to probably say about this book, so I started skimming Wikipedia to help ground me in what the hell is actually being said as I finish up Book One.

“There is no private property on Utopia, with goods being stored in warehouses and people requesting what they need. There are also no locks on the doors of the houses, and the houses are rotated between the citizens every ten years.”

This business about requesting what they need from warehouses strikes me as weirdly similar to modern-day use of Amazon to fulfill one’s daily needs. Now, okay, we still “own” the goods we get in exchange for money, but there’s something here. If only of a thematic, sci-fi connecting tangent…

For the past few years in my writing, I’ve on and off again visited a possible (probable) future where climate catastrophe is global, national governments tumble, and a few “brave” (dystopian) corporations step in to pick up the pieces. These become the “Four Providers,” as I’ve called them. In a sort of neo-feudalism, people are pledged to one or another Provider, or they may be a classless class apart, the “Without Providers,” who are denied basic services, and must make their own way in an increasingly hostile climate and society.

These Providers, for the most part, are sentient or quasi-sentient general artificial super-intelligences. I haven’t settled on any final name for them, calling them sometimes Sages (depending on their aligment), sometimes Princeps, and other times other things. Though they range from malevolent/chaotic to friendly and beneficial (for the most part) to humans, they in effect play the part of super-intelligent philosopher kings, or medieval princes of enclaved city-states, or collections of city-states. Though some places may also be mixed polities, where those covered by different Providers live and interact with one another.

More’s Utopia, of course, is not that. But it is many other interesting things, some good-sounding and some bad-sounding. Some other Wikipedia quotes:

Agriculture provides the most important occupation on the island. Every person is taught it and must live in the countryside, farming for two years at a time, with women doing the same work as men. Parallel to this, every citizen must learn at least one of the other essential trades: weaving (mainly done by the women), carpentry, metalsmithing and masonry. There is deliberate simplicity about these trades; for instance, all people wear the same types of simple clothes and there are no dressmakers making fine apparel. All able-bodied citizens must work; thus unemployment is eradicated, and the length of the working day can be minimized: the people only have to work six hours a day (although many willingly work for longer). More does allow scholars in his society to become the ruling officials or priests, people picked during their primary education for their ability to learn. All other citizens, however, are encouraged to apply themselves to learning in their leisure time.

Slavery is a feature of Utopian life and it is reported that every household has two slaves. The slaves are either from other countries (prisoners of war, people condemned to die, or poor people) or are the Utopian criminals. These criminals are weighed down with chains made out of gold. The gold is part of the community wealth of the country, and fettering criminals with it or using it for shameful things like chamber pots gives the citizens a healthy dislike of it. It also makes it difficult to steal as it is in plain view. The wealth, though, is of little importance and is only good for buying commodities from foreign nations or bribing these nations to fight each other. Slaves are periodically released for good behaviour. Jewels are worn by children, who finally give them up as they mature.

Other significant innovations of Utopia include: a welfare state with free hospitals, euthanasia permissible by the state, priests being allowed to marry, divorce permitted, premarital sex punished by a lifetime of enforced celibacy and adultery being punished by enslavement. Meals are taken in community dining halls and the job of feeding the population is given to a different household in turn. Although all are fed the same, Raphael explains that the old and the administrators are given the best of the food. Travel on the island is only permitted with an internal passport and any people found without a passport are, on a first occasion, returned in disgrace, but after a second offence they are placed in slavery. In addition, there are no lawyers and the law is made deliberately simple, as all should understand it and not leave people in any doubt of what is right and wrong.

That last piece sounds almost like Swift’s talking horses, Houyhnhnms, who are highly rational creatures, so much so that he wishes he could stay with them, and when banished, is hard-pressed to re-adjust to the grossness of human society which he’d learned to hate. I believe he says something to the effect that they are governed by “reason alone” and as a consequence have no need for anything other than very simple laws. With the unlikely idea, obviously, that reason when employed by differing parties (with different interests and contexts) will always operate toward the same ends. Anyone who has lived anywhere on actual-not-fictional-planet-earth knows that is not the case.

And that, of course, is the “fun” of Utopian literature. Being able to bend & blend reality and imagination like that. Utopian lit is 100% hyperreal. It opens up an imaginal space which almost seems like it could become a real space in certain times & circumstances. We want to believe it could be true, even if – and possibly because – so much of it is so absurd. It’s part of why I’ve recently started feeling (for whatever my feelings are worth or not worth) that satire, especially, is one of the highest forms of art.

Maybe/probably that’s just something that satirists tend to end up thinking about themselves, because you have to be kind of an asshole to be a satirist in the first place. But I also think like, there’s no kind of commentary you can make with a serious face that ends up – for my money, anyway – being as powerful as the cutting kind that accompanies satire. And there is no kind of true expression that you might find in non-satirical art that is quite as True-Capital-T as that which you find between the tongue and the cheek of satire. In the liminal space of satire can be great power, great pain, great beauty, and great despair, all in the same moment.

Which makes this bit from the Wikipedia interesting about More’s flirtations with Utopian socialism:

“Book two has Hythloday tell his interlocutors about Utopia, where he has lived for five years, with the aim of convincing them about its superior state of affairs. Utopia turns out to be a socialist state. Interpretations about this important part of the book vary. Gilbert notes that while some experts believe that More supports socialism, others believe that he shows how socialism is impractical. The former would argue that More used book two to show how socialism would work in practice. Individual cities are run by privately elected princes and families are made up of ten to sixteen adults living in a single household. It is unknown if More truly believed in socialism, or if he printed Utopia as a way to show that true socialism was impractical (Gilbert). More printed many writings involving socialism, some seemingly in defense of the practices, and others seemingly scathing satires against it. Some scholars believe that More uses this structure to show the perspective of something as an idea against something put into practice. Hythloday describes the city as perfect and ideal. He believes the society thrives and is perfect. As such, he is used to represent the more fanatic socialists and radical reformists of his day. When More arrives he describes the social and cultural norms put into practice, citing a city thriving and idealistic. While some believe this is More’s ideal society, some believe the book’s title, which translates to “Nowhere” from Greek, is a way to describe that the practices used in Utopia are impractical and could not be used in a modern world successfully (Gilbert). Either way, Utopia has become one of the most talked about works both in defense of socialism and against it.”

I don’t especially have a horse in this race, though after becoming a Canadian citizen, can see that socialized medicine is “actually pretty cool if you think about it.” It sort of takes away the essential terrible existential fear of financial ruin over health problems many/most live with in the United States (and elsewhere). If you need help, you just have to call, basically. But if Quebec’s health system is indicative of the whole, you have to then wait a very very long time. So that part sucks. Like anything, you can make arguments for and against it. And I think that in a nutshell (to make arguments for and against and to lampoon both), is the purpose of utopias, satires, and especially Utopian satires as a genre, like I’m attempting to do myself after that grand style in Conspiratopia.

Books are my social media

After having spent a few months early this year swimming deep in the NFT crypto art waters of Twitter, and amassed a couple thousand followers, I ended up deleting my Twitter account. It was quite an ordeal, actually, to wait the 30 days between deactivation and deletion. The FOMO they instill is real. And its even worse now that they disabled functionality for logged out users. (Btw, here’s a Reddit thread on disabling the annoying pop-up modals for logged out use – basically you just block cookies from Twitter.com in your browser preferences)

But in the end, I was very happy to do it. I spent years not using Twitter, due to then job-related mild PTSD. Then I tried to use it as a “civilian” and found it still tiresome, until I started making money selling crypto art. But the bottom fell out rapidly of the NFT market boom and it quickly became a grind.

What else do I hate about Twitter? The politics. The tone. The performance. The complaining. The endless wheel-spinning. When I use Twitter, I become all those things I hate too. It’s like a disease. For me, the only solution was cutting it off at the source. Bleeding the well dry, and ending the habit-cycle of going there to check in on the infinitely diminishing returns that are social media.

As I wrote elsewhere about algorithm fatigue, if you don’t post on social media for a month, a week, a day, an hour, everyone forgets you. You become nothing the second you stop feeding the machine. Even while you’re feeding the machine, you’re still nothing.

Don’t get me wrong, I still get stuck in stupid cycles of pointless, endless internet browsing. And I still feed the Reddit beast (mainly as a bookmarking tool), but its a less harsh master the way that I use it. I made it work for me. I guess you could do that with Twitter, but, actually no. I don’t think so. I think if you use Twitter, you become all that bullshit, whether you’re intending to or not, whether you think you are or not.

So now, when I’m able to discipline myself, I’m trading my spare moments of internet bullshit for either blogging here to an audience of zero. Well, an audience of 1. Me. And that’s just fine. I’m an introvert in the end, so… And then apart from that, I’ve rebooted books as my replacement to social media.

Jonathan Swift is 100x funnier than the latest Twitter hot take. If it’s lasted 300+ years and still funny, that seems to me to count for more than something that’s been popular 300 seconds, and will die in another 300 seconds. I’m not trying to be holier-than-thou. I’m just trying to spell out the terms of my own experience, my own struggle, and how I’m maybe finding ways out of it. I don’t think I’m alone in all this. But I think few people are being honest with themselves about how shitty it all has become.

Found this earlier via a small Discord group I’m in (which still feels like a safer proxy than Twitter to web trends), a conspiracy that claims the internet “died” in 2016-17. Apart from all the shitty links to 4chan/8chan apparent in the linked sources to that article, I at least resonate with that vibe. That everything is fake. That everything is gamed. That everything is empty, and hollow, and a vast manipulation. And that’s how any good conspiracy theory gets you, is emotional resonance. It taps into something you know isn’t right, or isn’t just, etc. And then leverages that crack into a vast canyon…

One of the things I guess I’m getting from going back through Utopian Satires of centuries gone by is that, in a lot of ways maybe, society hasn’t changed that much. People still hated xyz all this time ago. Things were still rotten, and corrupt, and fundamentally broken since basically forever. It’s not some new thing created by the internet, necessarily. Not created by, but certainly exacerbated by, and intensified by orders of magnitude. And I don’t see any way out of it. Except through personal choice, iron will, and discipline to put down all the bad parts, and shake the dust from your feet. But it’s a solitary road. Just like reading “dumb” books. So maybe, in the end, we’re made for each other…

Remember to like and subscribe

I wish I had a filter that could block out any part of a YouTube video where people tell me “Remember to like and subscribe.” I find that shit so annoying. I don’t like or subscribe to any YouTube videos. I’m certainly not going to begin on your dumb video. Sorry.

Ordinarily, I don’t even use a browser that has a YouTube/Google account at all. And yet, Google constantly tracks me regardless, and offers me endless suggestions of Jordan Peterson videos, even though I find him to be an idiot. Technology is so cool!

Conspiratopia: Chapter 17

For meeting someone supposedly so important, we just went to this small room that didn’t look like anything special. There were a couple cushioned folding chairs and a table, and that was about it and stuff. We sat down and my dad closed the door and we waited. 

“You nervous?” he said.

“Idk, should I be?” I still didn’t really know what I was doing there, or what this was all about. 

Just then, the lights dimmed and stuff and music started playing or whatever. It was the intro to Us and Them by Pink Floyd, and I was all like yesssss.

After a minute, suddenly there was a hologram of this random-looking symbol that showed up kind of floating on the other side of the table. I realized then there were little holographic projector dealies hidden in the walls and ceiling. 

The symbol went away, and there was like… the Wizard of Oz and stuff? Like from the old ass movie or something. Except there was no Dorothy or the robot guy, and no ugly lion or whatever. It was just the weird like all alien-looking face of the wizard. And there were like flashes of fire and smoke and stuff. It looked totally legit as hell and was timed perfectly with the music. It was actually sweet as hell. 

“Sweet,” I said out loud.

“Totally,” my dad said.

The singing part of that song kicked in (which rocks), and I started to feel like I was frickin’ tripping, cause like the Wizard of Oz on the hologram was singing and stuff…

Us and them
And after all we’re only ordinary men
Me and you
God only knows
It’s not what we would choose to do”

The Wizard stopped singing, but the music kept going in the background, and then he talked to us. Me, I guess. 

He was all like, “Yo, dude. How’s it hangin’?”

“Uh, alright I guess. You?” I said. 

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain,” the Wizard alien-looking hologram dude said. “Hey, thanks for coming out here. Great to see you and stuff. You liking it so far?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s fine.”

“Cool, cool. So, what can I do ya for?” said the Wizard. 

My dad jumped in, “Well, we were, uh, kinda hoping you could help us figure out what’s next for for Matty here.”

“Got it. Coolio. Gimme a sec to review the files,” said the Wizard. His eyes light up and stuff while he did that.

His eyes went back to normal. 

“Okay, let’s see. Well, we’ve actually got an opening that might be compatible…”

“That’s great,” said my dad, looking over at me and squeezing my shoulder. 

“It’s in your work group even, actually,” said the Wizard to my dad. 

“Whoa, awesome,” I said. “What is it?”

“Well,” said the Wizard. “We’ve identified a workflow issue in certain retail areas that we need to throw bodies at until we find a better solution.”

“Lucky,” said my dad. “That’s how I got my start too. So what would the job be exactly?”

“Our electrical shopping cart system is broken. So they aren’t able to return themselves to the store like they should be after customers finish shopping. They end up stuck in unusual places, and so…”

“So,” I interrupted. “The job would be pushing shopping carts?”

“Basically,” said the Wizard, and there was another flash of fire. 

“What do you think?” said my dad, looking at me.

“How much does it pay?” I asked. 

“Money,” said the Wizard, and the song switched to Money by Pink Floyd, “as you may know, does not work the same here as it does in the outside world.”

“So I hear,” I said.

“But,” said the Wizard. “It would work out to something like… $10.75 an hour in your dollars.”

“Whoa,” I said. “That’s a twenty five cents an hour raise from Walmart!”

“Totes,” said the Wizard. “Plus you could watch films or play games or whatever you want during overwriting sessions.”

“You mean… nanites?”

“Yeah, bro,” said the Wizard. “Though, we have other systems besides nanites if you prefer. But pretty much everybody here works on overwrite, except when protocols call for manual mode for some reason. It’s just more efficient.”

My dad was nodding like crazy. “It’s awesome, Matty. You’ll see.”

Hm, I thought. I could make more money than I was making back home, and I could frickin’ play video games while doing it? I didn’t have to think about it all that hard. 

“Well, sign me the eff up!” I said. 

Conspiratopia: Chapter 16

“Wow, this is really good and stuff,” I said to my dad, my mouth full of burger. It was really good for real. 

“I know, right?” my dad said. It was so cool to see him again. Felt like old times and whatnot. 

We were sitting at a small table outside this thing that looked like on of those airport pubs in the underground mall city or whatever where my dad lived now. He was telling me about his job and stuff. 

“Yeah, it’s totally cool, and stuff,” he was saying. “My group does a little bit of everything. We’re actually pretty technical. We even do some light maintenance on the robots. Plus like a lot of facilities management, which is really important. Like changing doorknobs or light bulbs. Cleaning up the bathrooms, taking out the trash. You know. It’s a really big deal here cause you know the whole thing’s underground. Well, mostly. So like that’s all we got.”

“Yeah, man,” I said. “Very cool. I guess you must be earning a lot of money and stuff if you do all that.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Pretty rad, for sure. Pays decent too. We don’t use dollars actually, but it works out to about fifteen dollars an hour or something, I think.”

I was only making like $10.50 an hour pushing shopping carts at Walmart, so I thought that sounded like a pretty sweet deal. 

“And I guess you probably get like a free apartment or something, right?”

“Well, not exactly,” my dad said. “It comes out of my credits and stuff, you know? Just like anywhere. It’s pretty small, but it’s really nice, you’ll see. I even have a fold-out couch you could sleep on. And we can share the mini-fridge.”

“Damn, that sounds nice,” I said. I was missing my mom’s basement for sure, after being cooped up in that pod thing or whatever the hell it was that brought me here. It was good to get some real food in me too, and I was feeling like I was getting back to normal. Maybe even a new normal, and stuff. Here with my dad. I didn’t know yet what I was gonna do. If I was gonna stay or whatever, or like if I could even leave if that drone was already gone. 

“What did you call this burger again?” I asked him. 

“Radmeat,” he said. 

“That’s a rad name,” I replied.

“I know. We make it locally too. Well, not me we, but like it’s made here by another group.”

“What do you mean it’s made?” I said, suddenly slowing down as I chewed.

“Yeah,” he said. “There’s no red meat here because we’re underground and on an island and stuff. It would be really expensive to get it shipped or flown in or whatever. So we have radmeat instead. They make it in big vats here from like…”

I put the burger down. “Vats?”

“Yeah, I mean I don’t know the technical terms. But its like, ah, cultured meat and vegetable proteins, I think?”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad, I guess,” I said, reconsidering.

“Yeah, no. It’s actually really cool. I think it’s made from uh, rat embryos, edible insects, and, um, lentils or something. At least I think, that’s what they say around the shop at work.”

“So, Radmeat is actually rat meat?”

“Well, not only that. Also cockroaches and lentils.”

“Well, I do like lentils, actually,” I said, picking up the burger again to look at it more closely. It just looked – and tasted – like a burger. No like rat parts or bugs legs or anything sticking out of it. I took another bite, and decided I didn’t care. Thinking about lentils made me miss my mom though. She was gonna be pissed about the car, and I couldn’t just disappear on her. Well, like dad did. 

“Dad,” I said, “I just realized I gotta call mom. She’s gonna be super worried and stuff.”

“When did you talk to her last?”

“I told her I got a new job and was gonna crash at Mikey’s for a couple days. Only problem is idk how long ago that was now. Could be a couple days I guess. Can I call her? My phone’s dead.”

“We’ll have to get permission,” he said. “But I’ll make sure we can get it soon.”

“Permission?” I said, confused. 

“To contact the outside world, yeah. People in our group have restricted contact.”

“Wth?” I said. “That sounds sketchy af. Is this like a cult or something? You can’t contact anybody without permission?”

“Dude, relax. You know me. Would I ever join a cult?” he said. 

I thought about it for a minute and decided I wasn’t sure. 

Just then, my dad’s phone beeped and buzzed. He took it out and looked at it. 

“Okay, we gotta go,” he said. “It’s our turn.”

“Our turn for what?” I asked. 

“To see the big guy, and figure out what you’re doing here.”

Inset tales & frame stories

I’ve seen this referred to by a lot of different name. Most commonly, the term frame story tends to indicate works like Arabian Nights, where there is, ahem, a framing story, and then a bunch of smaller stories inside. In fact, now I know that there is a word for the tale within a tale itself (the smaller nested element): inset tales or inset stories.

Found this courtesy of the Wikipedia page about the Golden Ass:

“Similar to other picaresque novels, The Golden Ass features several shorter stories told by characters encountered by the protagonist. Some act as independent short stories, while others interlock with the original novel’s plot developments.”

Anyway, this is a funnish quote about inset tales in Gothic novels:

“The Gothic inset, or tale within the tale, often deals with a dead or missing relative of the heroine and relates in some way to the riddle of the heroine’s identity or paternity. In Gothic fiction, inset tales are often introduced to the narrative by way of manuscript discoveries, and are so cabalistic as to sometimes require deciphering. The most elaborate example of an inset tale as a Gothic structural device is probably Maturin’s Melmoth The Wanderer, where the various tales are arranged concentrically, and the Wanderer’s chronicle of despair is recited by narrators within narrators within narrators.”

Conspiratopia: Chapter 15

“Dad, what are you doing here and stuff?” I said. 

“Dude,” he said, “you wouldn’t believe it. Shit has been crazy this past little bit. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get in touch.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Have you been here this whole time?”

“Come, come inside,” he said. We stood by the open doorway of like a giant empty warehouse or something. I noticed there were still security cameras everywhere.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been mostly here and stuff. And there,” he said, “before, you know. Coming here.”

“I think I know what you mean,” I said. 

“Dad,” I asked, looking around at the cameras, and lowering my voice so only he could hear me. “Did they slip you nanites too?”

“That was, uh, after my time and stuff,” he said. 

“Gotcha.”

“So, uh, what is this place, anyway?” I said. 

“Maintanence & Storage Space 25-Alpha,” he said, very officially, and stuff. “Of the Conspiratopia Project, of the Northern Gestalt.”

“Uh… right,” I said. “Right. And, uh, what happens now?”

“I’m not really sure, bro” he told me. “I got a notification to come up here to open the door, with no other instructions or anything.”

“Weird,” I said. “Well, uh, what were you doing before you came up here?”

“Come on,” he said, walking toward the far side of the warehouse. “I’ll show you.”

I hadn’t seen it before, but there was a door on the far wall that was camouflaged almost, like the same color and texture as the wall. If you didn’t know what to look for, you might not even see it. My dad punched in a code on a keypad next to it that was also kinda disguised. The door unlocked, and we went in. It turned out to be a smallish elevator. There was just one button inside, and he pressed it, and I could tell we were descending. 

“Wtf,” I said. “It’s underground?”

“Mmhm.”

It actually took kind of a while of going down before we stopped and stuff. 

“Wow, we must be pretty deep,” I said. 

“Yep,” was all he said. 

The door opened, and he motioned for me to follow him. We went out into this long hallway tunnel thing that kinda sloped downward just a little bit. 

At the end of it, there was another doorway, this one not hidden or whatever. My dad punched in another set of numbers onto the keypad, and it opened. 

When we stepped through, my mind was pretty much blown. We were in like a fancy shopping mall type thing, but I guess it was totally underground? Except, you couldn’t really tell that it was underground because there were tropical plants like inside and also outside the windows and stuff. And like there was sunlight coming in through the windows, and you could see a sort of hazy blue sky and clouds and everything. 

My dad saw me looking up at the sky and stuff, and was like, “Dude, holograms.”

“Omfg,” I said. “But what about inside, like the shops and the building and stuff? Holograms too?”

“Nope,” he said. “All real.”

“Goddamn, this is nuts,” I said. It really was nuts. I couldn’t believe how nuts it was. 

A few people walked by, carrying shopping bags and stuff. They were dressed like rich people you see at vacation towns near the beach. They didn’t seem to notice us.

After that, a couple of those telepresence robot things drove by, like I’d seen earlier. The iPads on a stick with wheels, basically. With a person’s face on the screen. Controlling them from who knows where. 

“So, this is it, then,” I said. “The City, or whatever. I made it…”

He smiled at me, and said, “You made it, Matty. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Me too, dad.”

“I’m sorry things got so fucked up.”

“I know,” I said. “Me too.”

“It’s my fault. I acted like a douche, and stuff.”

I didn’t say anything, but smiled, kind of agreeing.

“But I’ve got a new life or something now. And you’re here. We got another chance. We’re pretty lucky, cause most people don’t get that.”

“We’re super lucky, dad,” I agreed. 

“Hey, uh, is there a food court around here or anything? I’m frickin’ starving,” I said.

“Yeah, man. Me too. Let’s go, and I can show you our place later.”

“Our place?” I said.

“Yeah, well, my place. But like, obvs you can stay with me,” he said, pointing me toward the food court. “You know, if you want to, or whatever. I don’t know how long you’re staying and stuff, or really even like if you’re staying. Or how you got here or, well, frickin’ anything. I’m just so happy to see you, Matty. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, dad. I’m happy to. I’ll tell you everything after I get like a frickin’ burger in me and stuff. All I had was like Cheetos and a couple Slim Jims and stuff. And like Powerade and a Rockstar…”

“Totes,” he said. “I know just the place.”

Slow Claps for the Slow Collapse

I laugh at / die a little inside thinking about all the backlash and conspiracism around Covid restrictions. There’s nothing even left to say about it, is there?

To me this is and has always been a dry run for the “real deal” when all of this won’t be a drill anymore. We won’t have the option to cry about it politically, because the devastation will be visible all around us. (Even moreso than it already is, I mean.)

I watched this Tucker Carlson video earlier, from June 2021, with them suggesting there will be climate lockdowns, following Covid. I took a screenshot of one of the funnier (for me) bits:

The caption reads, “‘CLIMATE LOCKDOWN’ WOULD MEAN NO MORE RED MEAT & LIMITS ON VEHICLE USE.”

These guys live in a parallel universe to me, or else a tangent universe. Where these catastrophic systemic changes aren’t already happening and visible all around us on a massive, global scale. But I guess if you can get yourself to believe in a Flat Earth, you can get yourself to believe in anything, including the idea humans have nothing whatsoever to do with the emerging Earth Changes.

It’s not necessarily just a right-left division on this either. If only it were that simple. This article on phys.org is a good example of the meta-problem that I see in a lot of mainstream scientific discourse about these issues:

“Global warming will cause extreme sea levels to occur almost every year by the end of the century, impacting major coastlines worldwide, according to new research from an international team of scientists.”

If that only happens by the “end of the century” we will have been extremely lucky. My personal prediction, based on I guess merely paranoia, intuition, observation, and catastrophism is that we’ll see these events increase in frequency and severity globally within the next 5-10 years. All the predictions are playing it way too safe. I don’t know why. To appear credible? To build options for the reporting team to pull down grant money with whatever their particular prescribed brand of fix is? Unclear.

I suspect it is more along the lines of that nobody wants to be that pessimistic. Nobody wants to be like: this will happen not just within our lifetimes, but within the next few years. In fact, it’s already happening. You look like a dick when you’re that guy, but here we are.

So the thing that’s outright wrong for me about that Fox News screengrab above, with them crowing about red meat and driving (American rights, obvs), is that because people are not pessimistic enough about what’s happening (a.k.a., realistic), then they will not be aggressive enough about near term mitigation.

In other words, by the time we see “lockdowns” in place around Climate Change, it will not be because it’s some optional thing put in place by a government you don’t like or agree with. It will because red meat was wiped out by a super-plague (see: African swine fever in China for a parallel example). And entire cities were lost due to extreme weather events, so not only were supply chains massively disrupted, but there is an increased strain on neighboring resources caused by climate refugees. “Driving restrictions” will be in place because there is not that much fuel available anymore. Or because the government of the place you live collapsed, so the roads aren’t kept up anymore. And you basically can’t get parts to fix your car.

But yeah, keep crying about Communism & China. Defend your god-given right to infect one another at Lollapalooza. Stick to your small games where the bad guys are easy to spot, and ignorance of the enormity of the real problems facing not just the U.S., but all of us, is bliss. It seems to be working great so far, right?

I’m not gonna preach about it that much more. I just find it annoying, so had to rant. Me, I’m studying up to buy or maybe build a whole house air filter to plug into the supply side of my HRV (air exchange system). Because the sun turned red one evening this summer from wildfires that are many hours’ drive away. To me, now, the question is simply how to adapt & survive under conditions on the ground which are already showing indicators of radically altering. It’s not about prepping for “one day” when the SHTF. It’s already too late. The fan was made of shit all along.

Conspiratopia: Chapter 14

I was in that container for like a long ass time. I’m not sure how long. I feel asleep during Airbud and woke up later when some other movie was playing. But I smoked again and went back to sleep. There were no windows or anything so it was hard to tell how much time had passed. Plus I was hella stoned, so like whatever. 

Eventually I woke up again, wasn’t stoned anymore, and fixed that right away. But I was starving. A dude cannot live on Flamin’ Hot Cheetos alone, as they say. I was wishing for like my old lentils and rice and Frank’s Red Hot Sauce or something. But the only other thing in the mini-fridge besides Cheetos and Powerade were a couple diet Rockstar Energy Drinks and some Monster size Slim Jims in four different flavors. Honey BBQ. Yuck. Teriyaki. Maybe. Hot AF flavor. Hell yes. Sonic Chili Cheese Coney flavor. Double hell yes. But I decided to save that one for later (cause who knows how long I’d be here), and went with the Hot AF. 

I used the toilet, and it was fine. It was sorta like a small airplane toilet or something. There was a vent that came on automatically, so I didn’t end up stinking up the joint or anything. So that was cool.

“Yo, you got any games?” I asked the computer. 

Another little hidden compartment in the wall opened up, and I pulled out a wireless controller. The holographic thingy came back on, and there was a menu with like a ton of games on it. It looked like they were all emulators and stuff of all the different systems. But they were all really good quality, and there was a lot of stuff I never heard of. 

I was just settling into some Call of Duty, when something happened. There was a thud outside and like a hissing noise, and I guess we came to a stop and stuff finally. I kinda forgot honestly we were even moving, cause you could barely feel it. The holographic thingy went dark, and the lights came on inside the cabin or whatever. Then the door slid open. 

It was pretty cool in there, but I was anxious to get outside and breathe some fresh air and stuff finally. Plus like, it was a frickin’ beach and stuff outside! There were palm trees and stuff a little ways off. I hopped right tf out, and was all like, damn, this is rad, yo!

It was totally rad, actually. “A frickin’ island!” I said. It was obvs an island. But like how did I even get here? I walked around the outside of the cabin pod thing, but still didn’t have any idea. There were no tracks or anything. So we didn’t drive all the way here for sure. Way out over the ocean though, there was this thing flying. It was already pretty far away and tiny. A helicopter? Drone? 

“A frickin’ drone!” I said. “Sweet!”

I looked around at the rest of the beach, which was totally empty and stuff. And up at the like forest or jungle or something. There was like a trail and stuff up from the beach into the woods. So I grabbed my cell from inside the cabin, and pocketed the rest of the weed, rolling papers, the lighter, a couple Slim Jims, and a Rockstar, and went up there and followed it.

The jungle was pretty cool. I didn’t see any snakes or anything, but there were lots of birds, and I thought I heard monkeys or something. Which was rad. I frickin’ love monkeys. There were some signs attached to trees that just had like arrows and stuff telling you where to go. I followed them obvs. For I don’t know, 10 minutes or something. 

Eventually, the forest ended, and there was this big concrete building that looked sort of like a cross between a warehouse and a bunker and a resort or something. I followed the arrows up to some steps, and a big metal door. There was a buzzer next to it, and I pressed it and it was like totally loud and stuff. I waited a couple minutes and nothing happened. But then all of a sudden, the door swung open, and there was like this dude standing there wearing goggles. He flipped the goggles up, and I was all like Frickin’ holy shit!

“Dad?” I said. “What in the hell…?”

“Matty?” he said, and stepped out of the door and stuff to give me a huge hug.

Mandela Effect

Isn’t the Mandela Effect like, literally, people just refusing to believe they’re wrong about how they remember something?

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still fun. In one way, maybe even moreso for that being the “real” underlying reason. We’ll do anything to prove we are not and physically could not be wrong.

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