What is it like to come of age in a society and a culture that is already dead? Could the rotting corpse in which you grew up be more palatable and soothing even if you became aware of what a corpse is?
Here is a time and a history in which the people live off past evil and bitterness and cotton candy dialogue while the residuals of the heroes of previous generations slowly dwindle. “Man is born free and everywhere he is in chains.” What happens when one has nothing? Wormwood has enveloped the 30 years of my life—sweet upon taste but bitter the dregs of future discontent. All the while society itself sickens from a crippled immune system overrun by parasites. What would it matter if you saw all this and told others? They just return polite stares of befuddlement and looks of “Bless his heart.” What would it profit a man to see all this and to bet everything on the truth when nobody even believed that one could know truth? Dialogue and narratives poison the very sinews of this world. Two herds are catalyzed, through Hegelian incantations, into impotent endless conflict. What would it matter if one person saw all this from adolescence and was, for the longest time, paralyzed through the sheer pointlessness of it all. Then, through a series of fires that purified his soul, he slowly suffocated the lies within him as they sprouted fangs and snaked around him.
And hope was rekindled again in the good, hope that enough people had humbled themselves before the Lord such that goodness, mercy, and (most importantly) Justice could fertilize a sterile humanity. This hope created anew in this man a fierce dedication to life and to living.
And he went all in.
He was summarily crushed by the millstone of indifference and cowardice and effete passivity of the hosts around him that should be people, real living creatures imbued with the image of God. But the truth was smothered, the lie adorned. And nobody cared; the trap was already sprung beneath our consciousness decades ago.
Decadence, wages, entertainment, tolerance, race, sex, mercy, PERVERSION of all kinds drip fetidly off the synaptic gaps of Hegelian neurons. Reeds sway here and there in shallow soil.
And this man was left destitute by his ever-brief hope in the good of this human race. The institutions were laid bare for me to see, and now I have no way of looking away as maggots and things much murkier squirm and tumble out of the corpses of our once mighty financial and justice systems, and out of our crown jewel, the now desecrated and cannibalized statue of liberty, cremated with the firestarter of our constitution, our rights, our small businesses, and our ability to be distinct from the vaudeville Whore of Babylon.
I look back on Sodom and Gomorrah not as Abram or Lot, but as the many who watched the Bachelor, raised the fist, tried to be nice, settled for comfort, and sagged out our lives on the backs of the millions of wage slaves, child labor, and sex-addled persons molested by the demons at the altar. Our perception is but a simulation created by those who control our minds. Our language is addled, cured, and directed towards that which deceives, all the while smothering the sounds emanating from the ever-present desolate wasteland of sulfuric lives and millions of children, both those already dead and those waiting placidly to be desecrated by the millstone around the neck of their parents.
We are “wandering around in the ruins of a dead civilization.” We don’t seem to know that everything is already finished. Society breathes contempt for anything sacred. Culture is but porn and plastics and cancerous food for thought. The last of my childhood misplaced hope in the good of our pillars was restored for a time and then destroyed with complete certitude by God. And no one cares, no one even understands but God Himself. There are no careers when it is all rigged and totalizing in its snares and lies and deceptions. What good does it do to see behind the curtain when the demons there already know they have secured most souls, already know they found final suicide of mankind? They are drinking the blood from goblets overflowing.
In my darkest periods of life, the only thing that would have weight in this vapid, ephemeral, piece-of-shit illusion in which we live was the thought of me ending it all. I never took it seriously enough to act on it, and never will (unless of course I ever come upon any truth or justice that disrupts the narrative; boy, lots of people suddenly suicide themselves when this occurs, how silly of them). But the realness of a gun, of its weight, of it in my mouth, now that sunk through all the quicksand and the spells Satan has layered inextricably upon us and gave me a taste of the only thing actually lasting in this society, the only thing I had control over. I always thought the best offering to this godforsaken Hegelian hellscape would be for me to blow my brains out in front of a tv during a pharmaceutical commercial. The woman would be in the happy part of the commercial where she sold her soul for a taste of “sunshine in a bag” and was frolicking through a park with her stage-right-exit-stage-left friends. Then in that cold empty sunshine of this world’s happiness would I finally exit the nightmare, the curtains lowering as a man read out endless side effects. I would leave a note that simply said “Whatever is written here will inexorably be used to advance the interests of Lucifer, but let it be known that I did what all of humanity is hurtling towards.”
All that to say, God revealed even deeper depravity and depths of deception that are rotting the souls of any of those of us that are truly left. And I know now that even this knowledge matters little, because no one cares. I don’t know where to turn, and God demanded of me that there would be NOWHERE to turn but to Him. This, someday, may be praise, but right now it is steely humiliation at my wasted life. I am pretentiously thinking of myself as a modern day self-imposed Job, destitute through a belief in Truth. I am humbled, and I do need to listen to others more, for my knowledge does no good to anyone I know. They have their powerful delusions sent them; perhaps my powerful delusion is that I can hold out as long as Job did.
Perhaps that is how the end of this constructed society will be: the last noxious fumes of plastic-happy discussion about Taylor Swift’s plight held in a sterilized wretched living room of upper middle-class lukewarm Christians break under the cumulative weight of tranched delusions and wretched cries of the persecuted. Large parts of all of us sag with advanced rot, the Abyss opens, and locusts come to feast upon our flesh while someone with a billion bot followers uses their last breaths to decry the multiracial whiteness of the Book of Revelation. We are all lukewarm, and God has spit us out.