People want to know why the fuck we want an apocalypse. I’ll tell you why. It’s because we’ve had it up to here with having it up to here, because we trade in the hours of our lives for paychecks that never stretch as far as we need. Because of this, we prioritize basic necessities and juggle them like ass-clowns in a three ring clusterfuck: can we put off the electric for another month to make sure that water’s not disconnected first thing Monday morning… and if we pay the water, exactly how much will that leave for food and shelter? So what’s the solution then? We delude ourselves into believing we only have to work longer and harder, we drag downtrodden and bedraggled asses home for a few, sparse hours before stumbling out of bed and starting the whole damn farce anew. We poise ourselves behind desks and counters, behind registers and phones, counting down the minutes and seconds with no true sense of pride or achievement. We’re just meat in a seat, more human resources to be used up and cast aside once we’re so burned out we’re simply cinders rattling around in otherwise empty husks.
We’re the ones who’ve tried playing by the rules, damn it. We’ve done everything we’re supposed to, tried so valiantly to be productive and functioning parts of society; we’ve clung to the bullshit we were fed in school until our hands are raw and bleeding, until our bodies feel as though they’re about to collapse under the strain. But there comes a time when we have to scream, “ENOUGH!!”
We’ve had enough of discipline-deprived children running amok through labyrinths of cans and boxes while so-called parents laugh and smile, pretending their little terrors can do no wrong; is it any wonder so many youngsters have an over-inflated sense of entitlement and infallibility? When our offspring are supplicated like miniature Gods, they’ll behave accordingly, free of consequence or personal responsibility. Like all deities, though, some reigns are destined to end. After being indulged and coddled for the first few years of life, they’re shipped off to school and drugged into slack-jawed zombies when it’s found they can’t sit still.
We’ve been brought up to believe that we should all be hypersensitive, that the key to a happy and healthy life is tunneling down into the core of deep-seated psychological traumas; we’re told we are broken, that we’re damaged toys whose windup keys can only be repaired by introspection and internal filibusters. But maybe we just need to keep busy with things that really count. Maybe we spend too much god damn time within the brambles our own heads and not enough with our hands, building and creating and clawing forward instead of looking back. Or maybe we just haven’t had enough prescriptions to strangle such a ludicrous idea, because if there’s one thing we can count on it’s that we all get our meds.
Speaking of which, we’re fed up with taking pills to treat the side-effects of the pills we’re taking to patch what’s wrong with us in the first place. Anal leakage, chemical color blindness, suicidal ideation, fatigue, hair loss, and potential birth defects: such a small price to pay to ensure we can get it up well into our twilight years or continue eating spicy foods indiscriminately. The commercials for these pills tell us to ask our doctors if a prescription is right for us, but doesn’t that seem a little backward? Isn’t the point of an office visit for a trained professional to utilize his or her education and experience to determine a course of treatment? But if the ads say we should ask our doctor, then who are we to question? After all, the commercials tell us how to be popular, how to behave, what to like, and what to think; they program our brains with insecurity, fear, and doubt and then offer the snake oil to make it all go away. Better living through fabric softener and increased sex appeal via car insurance. Clothes, diapers, pet food, and candy: they disguise our wants as needs and we buy into it hook, line, and sinker. That’s the true propaganda of this age: it’s not political, but consumer driven. And we’re inundated with it nearly every minute of every day.
When we turn on our televisions, horror and atrocities are beamed directly into our living rooms with high definition, surround sound clarity. Crazed men eating faces on busy highways, rape, murder, genocide, war, pestilence, famine, and death… but first, a word from our sponsor. We’re all fat and gassy and have horrible skin, but here’s an easy fix that doesn’t require us to make any changes to our personal habits at all. Now back to the newsroom where we see there’s been yet another school shooting, so here’s some footage of grieving parents and teachers to tide us over until the special interest groups have a chance to advance their own religious and political agendas by exploiting the suffering and pain of others.
But why should we expect anything different or anything more? Politics has become a team sport, complete with rabid supporters waving pennants while the rest of us huddle in the rain outside the stadium. If we’re lucky, maybe they’ll help us forget we’re wet and cold; maybe they’ll distract us with glitz and glitter, another fucking celebrity wedding/death/divorce/scandal… or perhaps a PSA about the evils of bullying so we can feel righteous indignation before returning to a singing contest where judges attack hopeful contestants who dared to believe in themselves, washing away their dreams in tsunamis of tears as they’re assaulted with words specifically designed to inflict maximum emotional damage.
We see all this and so much more. We reject it just as a stomach purges itself of an influx of poison. We refuse to choke it back down. We refuse to take part in the madness any longer. In the parlance of the day, we’re a significant sample of the demographic who just want to see it all burn.
Why the fuck do we want an apocalypse? Shit, man… isn’t it obvious?