“Why don’t you write something nice? That will make people smile, and be happy?”
I am certain that many writers past and present who occupy the field I am in, are asked this question. Why write about the misery of the world? Why look into the injustices? And peer through the cracks, to see what is often intentionally unseen. Why ask questions of people who may perpetuate the violence? Or, to hear their victims whisper in dignified notes? Or, why would one kick over the stones of society, and scrape the muck of cultural conformity, to find niches and subcutaneous lives that thrive among the shadows. Regardless.
Why write about Gaza and the genocide, what happened before October, 2023 and likely will occur long after? Why write on rape? Or, surveillance? How about censorship? The censors pen and scissors needs not apply when the readers close their eyes, scroll on, or ignore the books filled with past and present realities. Why write at all, when most roll their eyes, raise their shoulders to shrug. Or, escape into escapist retreats, confrontation and challenge not welcome. The world view is that consent is a word thrown about, but what they really mean is coercion, so long as it satiates conformist implementations and insecure policies. Consent can not exist beneath such impositions, but it’s brandished around by those who demand others yield, succumb and relinquish. Or, else.
Why read Huxley, when you can ingest Soma? Bradbury’s firemen have no job to burn the books when the books pages sealed by ignorance. Orwell’s farm animals danced themselves to the butchers block, and Big Brother became all of us. The dystopian State is the big employer. There is no counter-culture or dissent so long as the mob are placated by welfare and given access to more debt, to buy things which in months, or maybe years fill landfill. Despite still functioning. The people don’t care about wearing Guy Fawkes mask in solidarity with V. Rather, they would rather cheer the regime.
Buried beneath every Utopia, lay unmarked graves. The conquered, dissident and workers who bled and were bludgeoned to satiate civilisations greatness. The gentrification of civility but layers of fake veneers, make up on a rotten corpse, dress it up and conceal the past, burn away history and develop to the last tree, last bush is the glee of progress. New, shiny and clean, satisfy the many. Ordered. Civilised.
I met a man who makes a lot of money selling scents to brands, the same perfumed and familiar smell for each show room, inside their machines, or products. The smells are bad for the environment and health long term, but to mention this now is impolite and radical. To talk about cleaning products and their damage to the young and old, or in the past when anyone whispered on the dangers of micro-plastics, or non-stick surfaces, or further back radium, asbestos, defoliants or any other knownpoison sold for it’s convenience and, ‘nice smells’. Or, tastes. Health has become an inconvenience, and it’s a nuisance to rock the boat of progress when so much money can be made now, later on, the sick planet, mutated children and dying off insects will be dealt with by others.
Dead hippies, and sick veterans, and sicker ‘gooks’ cared about Agent Orange and the many other coloured defoliants, burn pits, dumping of fuel into the oceans, as a cadet I even helped to bury it in the desert, depleted uranium, the military is the biggest polluter. And, that’s in peace time, which says nothing of wartime. But, war is the health of the State. So long as it’s war fought over there, and mostly they die, they suffer. Then, war is a good thing. Academics and profiteers, politicians and generals all will conjure up intellectual descriptions and depictions as to why this is so. The Pentagon mandates what Hollywood can make about war, how it’s shown. Then again, every film they make now is steered this way.
The other day, I was helping old veterans spread mulch at a house. One, a man in his late sixties, who had served the British and Australian military’s in his time was on the phone to a slightly younger Aussie. Talking him down from his dark thoughts. Despite the therapists, the medication and the pats on the back. It turns out, sending mostly men to wage a war, to be lost, with no intentions of winning, in a place where Empire’s always lose, is unwise. As I toiled nearby, I could hear the veteran on the phone confess his dark thoughts, the medication making it worse, the thoughts of harm spread beyond himself, to his family. I did not hear the rest of the conversation. Thank you for your service, here’s a medal, a pension. And a dose of pills for your troubles. Fuck them over there. Only we, us, the Westerner suffers trauma and lingering anguish. On the 11th of the 11th stand for a minute, show your respect. Don’t think about any of it, just do the ritual, then fuck off.
War is unhealthy. Yet, it’s permanent. A divine right for some to wage, never a shortage of volunteers. Or, as we see in the Ukraine, males to be kidnapped and thrown into uniforms to kill and mostly die. As it has often been the case the world over. To what end? Most people claim to be anti-war, until they profit in some way to not care. None of their business. How about we change the subject and talk about something nice. Dead kids only matter, when they are closer to home.
No one plants the trees for tomorrow’s kids to climb and enjoy the shades. Instead, the fruit are sold without the seeds, that’s now sold seed by seed. As nature unintended it. Is it for profit? Or, is there a deeper human psychology. Those who lived in nature, as part of it, lost. They were beaten. They are savages and despised. Only romanced by undesirables. The victors conquer and modify nature. They rip it from the ground and twist it into elements that can not break down, so that for a flicker of a moment, a person may have a heater on their ass while they drive to purchase items they don’t want, or need. Or, tonnes of material are mustered for chips, and oceans of water used, and more energy than was needed for most centuries, so that a person may prompt an image to be discarded or ask a menial question, “do I like boobs?” The robot tries to answer. If it’s not satisfactory, it’s broken. And, more water, more chips and power is used.
Debt, the world is debt. That’s what makes it happen. Trillions.
Fast fashion, textiles that poison rivers and ruin the soil. To flock cameras that spy. Social media that divides, and contorts. Rewards grift and peers into all aspects of private life. We have become exhibitionists now. Not by choice. It’s soon going to be illegal to even assume privacy. Why close the blinds? Walk around naked, remember Snowden? Wikileaks? Vault7? Most likely not. Then it was outrage. Stasi sort of stuff. Now, it’s selfish, anti-social, hate, racist, terrorist, fascist, radical, all of the above, or something else to not want to be spied on, to not want censorship. Liberty was sold off. Cowards shirked it away, for credit and the lie of safety. Soft handed minds, begged for more authority to protect the very things that more authority has led to.
The stench of death lingers beneath the blanket of fake smells. The chirp of birds, still hum in the distance despite the drowning carnage of data centres, the smile of a child lifts under the drones deadly grin, two lovers share a moment regardless of the perverts cameras lenses, a poets pen finds the page even when the censor charges in. The weeds push through the soil, the flower through the cracked cement, the law and order of tyranny, sold with corporate lies, and government ties. Safety, security, welfare, civility, all branding.
The health state owns your body. Decides what you can and can not take. You belong to it. ‘Free’ public health, kinda, well for some, and there’s a wait, not much choice and not much agency, but it’s for a greater good, for some. People are getting less healthy, mental illness is more common place, is it even called that now? It’s a spectrum, or we just diagnose better now. Or, we pay more for different conditions so the incentives matter. The insanity is that it’s now punishable to be healthy, independent and to try new and different things, to work, to create and produce are deterred. Better to be dependent, expecting others to do it, parasitic inclinations, the rent seekers won, and I dread to do it, but the moochers thrive. Now accuse me of being a Randian, except we have no John Galt, or any Gulch to retreat to. What frontiers exist?
Not even for our own minds. Thoughts spoken aloud, could be deemed inappropriate. Nothing exemplifies a society secure in itself that outlaws hand gestures, symbols, flags and words. Cowardice is policy. No strength exists in mind or principles. The fluidity of what will and will not be allowed comes and goes at the whims of the regime. Principles do not matter. Nothing really matters. Politics isn’t even Utopian any more, it’s just nihilism. Reactionary self-perpetuation.
Why write about any of it. Write about happy things. How good was television show, you know the remake, of that twentieth century property. Did you see the sports ball game? Or, hear that song where they sing about the products and unrequited love? Look at the new toaster, it comes with an app to download, how neat. This way the fridge can talk to the washing machine, and let the car know what you need when you shop. Terabytes of data about you, those around you, from your phone, inside your home, sent away, into a cloud. If you don’t like it, you are a Luddite. It’s cool and convenient. Why don’t you like new things?
Yes, how awesome was the six hundred or so million dollar Marvel movie coming out. I already like it. If I don’t then, I am a downer. Unless, it’s approved by gatekeepers to not be liked, or, in liking, or disliking a film, show or song, I am somehow making a political statement, this can be good, or bad. Problematic or based. I’m unsure. I just enjoy somethings and don’t enjoy others. Are preferences a thing any more? Megaforce was fun, even if it flopped, and was a cynical means to sell toys. It was fun. Are many movies fun now? Jump scares here and there apparently make something a good horror. Add some torture porn, I am ranting now. But. I am talking about safe things.
Chances are by the time I have finished this, it would be ninety times this year. 2026. That the United States has bombed Somalia. Why? Gaza won’t exist soon. In a generation, it will be the sombre realisation of the gentrification of civilised process. The religion of shopping and real estates, for people to work and play. Beirut was once called, “Paris of the Mediterranean.” Until war, a Balkanisation of the region, and more war. Soon, Gaza, maybe the West Bank shall be there own such places. Riviera’s and more. That’s nice isn’t it. People watched the World Cup despite the slaves who built and died for the stadiums. Progress, civility. Open up your blinds, let’s have a look at your cock and tits, you have nothing to hide. Let me read those messages you sent to your colleagues, or wife, or kids. Nothing is personal. Safe, secure, healthy, do the right thing. Write nice things, comrade. Better yet, stop reading the things that challenge, or question. Maybe, don’t read at all. Hey look, some ‘comedian’ has Peter Thiel on his podcast. Cool.
