Defeated by Wisdom

The Soul is Returned in Darkness

hello all. I had started writing a long year end blog post but i dont know when my symptoms will allow me to finish editing it. (So i recorded an hour long podcast linked below, skip down if u want)

I have been thinking about how to continue or not continue with my job in 2024. About new websites or structures, apps and integrations. The ten thousand middle men of widgets and platforms and cross compatible semi-social media chains.

I have been using the notes function in Substack for small messages, micro-essays and poetry that i feel is not suited for facebook. Im trying to move everything away from the vacuous extraction pit of that place. It doesnt mean i think substack has better ethics (it doesnt), just that there needs to be a better way to maintain integrity of process and creative output as well as build collective power as we temporarily have social media and the internet, before we outright go brave new world on each other.

Flimsy as our strength may seem in the face of professional victimhood fascists, remember that they need us. We are the blood farm for the vampire elites and the wannabe vampire babies. Without us to die in their specious wars, shop in their sweatshops, and create content to capture and fragment attention, they have nothing. Money and guns and broken ideologies dont amount to much in the real world. Thats why they manufactured, designed and sold us on this nightmare tunnel.

How long until you or i become forced homeless or murdered in broad daylight because we are labeled terrorists? Dont you know, this is how imperialism goes, killing and killing until theres barely anything left?

And all the while, we fracture and segment and segregate, forming little tribes of crybaby hitlers led by lionized authors and rockstar figureheads cobbling together a pastiche of decontextualized and stolen indigenous wisdom.

for shame.

Perhaps this is who we are and what we have accrued. I certainly find it hard to argue against such repercussions when i look back at my 44 years. I find it hard to muster any real and sustained gratitude these days. What keeps me going is the fruit of the practice and the completely undeserved mercy that has washed up on my meager shores, a glimpse of the unborn world that shimmers all around this one, a glimmer of the real world. Beyond fantasies, beyond hope, beyond our most precious ideas and ideals. Thats what keeps me at the table but i hold no illusion that even this endurance is the correct move.

Lets all stop acting like poor whiny fucks shall we?