The Fatigue

I thought it was just me

The fatigue

It is mine, but not mine alone

There are many other humans

I have heard good arguments for loving

Noumenal equality makes some sense

But some make it phenomenally hard

Some jobs had a perq:

It was hard for perfect idiots to get involved

That's over

In fact, on a geopolitical scale

The greediest, most obnoxious, lusty idiot wins

And we shrug

We worry about prices

Without giving a thought to value

We cannot wait for anything

We think we are terribly important

And they are monsters, or animals

Our competitors

Other consumers

Threats

They're other people, dude

So much talk about demagogues

Without any understanding of the name

Demagogues fuck with your feelings for profit

Money, power, a license to grab beauty in ugly ways

If you don't think anything matters more than prices

If you are always angry, and confused, and afraid

And some shiny twit on television shares all of those feelings

And offers you a bargain, with a bonus: free surprises

You're in; but hang on

If the demagogue is just as angry, and confused, and afraid as you are

How can the demagogue possibly know a way out?

If the demagogue knew how to get out of this mess

The demagogue would not be covered in it

We are all, more or less, in a stinking mess

We post it online

Pictures and everything

Wealth is our soul metric of virtue

Unspeakably wicked human beings readily accumulate great wealth

It's practically a prerequisite

Giving people nothing for something

Exploiting other human beings with maximum efficiency most of the time

You are bound to see all human beings as fools

You've duped them before

Rubes

Really into weak, subjective relativism

People are saying nothing's right or wrong in itself

It depends

If the thieving scoundrel is relatable, whatever

Look at all of that money

He seems nice

Her hair is great

Never mind the lying and the cheating and the stealing

The diabolical progeny of James Gandolfini

Sympathetic sociopaths

Try teaching some of us

We won't read anything

We've already got opinions

Some vague beliefs, too

We're passionately committed to those

They're very popular, you know

Meaning is elusive

Fashionable nonsense is fashionable for a reason

Who cares about grammar and punctuation?

You can keep your figurative language and your themes

It all sounds like bullshit to me

Hang on, I'm getting a text

Machines will take care of all that "writing" soon

In fact, they write half of everything already

And will soon devour the rest

Prices are important

There are things we want

And they are not free

To get them, we need the money

And you will help us to get it

That's what we paid for

Feeling chronically tired of this ugly, empty way

Of being, which robs you of the strength to change it

Creeps on this petty pace

Soon it will erase

That antique world

My home

Eaten by time

Bought, sold