The self-obsessed, minuscule, uneducated, indistinguishable minds of the masses

Tuesday 12/2/25

Pisssssed that I just binged the first 4 chapters of Stranger Things 5, all in one night. Now wtf am I supposed to watch?!  

Yes. Whatever could you do with or within your (perhaps) one precious life?

The tiny brains of the masses are held hostage by streaming services. The tiny brains enter their holding cells willingly and agree to know of nothing more than the four walls of the cell in which they can barely turn around. Then they go on social media and discuss how wonderful what they are made to see--by having turned away from everything else out in life such that they no longer retain the ability to know that anything else exists--is.

Dreck and repetition becomes the new gold standard. The person who only has befouled water to drink learns to think they like it. What is said by many is what matters, not what anything actually is. The mindless ads for mindless products are pumped in, and, of course, products that make people more ineffectual and helpless in counteracting their own collective and individual demise, and which makes them more dependent on what they're being served as a means of controlling them, no differently than if they were injecting greater and greater quantities of a kind of emotional, mental, spiritual, and psychological form of heroin, as they race out to spread their new gospel like a plague of rats killing every last human on a ship and chewing through the wood until the vessel sinks or is no more, whichever happens first.

The above is the way of all things in our "culture" now. The business model. The death model.

But tell me about football, simpletons with your wasting disease of the mind and the soul (and how the refs are in demonic cahoots against your team, which is intriguing, considering that's what fans of the other team are also saying; huh; it's almost like everyone's a moronic, man-child--or woman-child--jackass), and tell me about Taylor Swift, and tell me how you know you're getting old (because surely that's the reason your back hurts from bending over, and not because you're a lazy couch sloth who never moves more than they have to), and all about your Thanksgiving leftovers because that's riveting and you should definitely post everything you can think of about that because it's just you, it's not seventeen million other people posting the exacting same thing, and tell me about Stranger Things, and tell me about Ken Burns, you who didn't even know when the Revolutionary War was until people were talking about the latest work of tripe formula from someone who turns Wikipedia (and the references--don't forget the references from the bottom) into what we now call great art here in the age of the stunted, ignorant, lazy, and incurious.

Tell me about the four things all of you will post about today because you know of nothing else and it's what all the others are doing, so you have your marching orders in your lobotomized robot brains without the clipped efficiency of an actual bot of the sort that will soon in essence replace your entire race. Tell me about the exact same things you "consumed" over the Thanksgiving weekend that were what everyone else consumed, and tell me about your "content creator journey" as someone who is no longer human. What's that like? Is it fulfilling? I bet it is. People really care, you know. You inspire them.

The other day when I was in the Bunker Hill Monument running my stairs, a man was coming down with his son while I was heading up. This man looked to be twenty years older than I am, but he was almost certainly younger, given the age of the boy, which was probably eight or nine. The boy was talking about how hard it would have been for soldiers to go to the top of this Monument, a word he didn't actually use. I'm sure he wouldn't know what the word meant, because that's how we educate our children now--which is to say, we don't.

We give them screens. And we lessen the quality of our school systems in order for the sake of appearances--look, no child stayed behind, and the parents were all happy--rather than do what is necessary to make sure the youth is being educated. Look at all of the schools puffing their chests out now about AI and how it's an AI world, and you have to adapt, like this brave school has! That's the gist/pitch, right? But it's just so the schools and the personnel can do less work. Watching the BC football game over the weekend, I saw a commercial for BC that hyped up how the university has embraced AI.

It's the end. It's the end of humanity. Intellectual genocide. We don't read to kids, and kids can't read. They'll never read. Everything is brain rot and the spread of brain rot. Reading books isn't just about reading books. It's about thinking and having a brain. And an imagination. Without these things, you can't be empathetic, you can't be a good person, you can't care about others, you can't do right by others, you don't know right and wrong, you have nothing to say, nothing to offer, you can't work through issues, you can't understand what the issues are, you can't be a good parent, a good spouse, a good friends.

Anyone who uses AI is against humanity. They are for the genocide of humanness. They're a kind of Hitler. But a Hitler who wants to wipe out the soul. Or a willing soldier for, if not intellectual Hitler himself. Boots on the ground. Who can't wait to march. You're just a piece of shit with no self-respect, no standards for yourself, no morals, no intelligence, no concern for the greater good and all that is holy and precious. We are all going to be on this rock that we call earth with nothing to live for or worth living for soon enough. That's what you're helping to bring about. And it's already a good portion of the way there. It's going to be too late to do anything about it when people--if they aren't too stupid--realize.

They won't have the tools, the means, the words, the brain power, the conviction, the courage, to fix anything, to throw dystopia into reverse and so we can navigate to something better and then keep going in that direction. I am understating how bad this already is and how bad it's going to be. This isn't, "Well, they said that about the Industrial Revolution!" which I swear people only know the name of because they know they can say it here as a means to justify their own fat-assed laziness, and couldn't tell you what the Industrial Revolution was or when it occurred. This is different. It's unique. What is happening now has no precedent in human existence. It's the end of human existence, as in, the end of humans being human.

The kid believed that the Monument was a fort. It's an obelisk with 294 stairs. There's nothing in it but a narrow stairwell that corkscrews to the top. This stairwell is barely wide enough to let two people pass each other. If one of those people are overweight, the other person will have to tilt their body--I have a technique where I make like a flounder and press my front against the wall on the way up while continue to move--in order to pass without them touching. (Interestingly, overweight people are much less likely in my nine years of Monument experience to make any concession at all to not carrying on the same as they would if they were there by themselves.)

Why are you there if you're this father and this kid? To do stairs? There will be no learning, no awareness. Which is the point of the Monument if you're not in there like me to run stairs, and basically no one else ever is. But here's where it gets good. The father then picks up the boy's narrative, and starts saying imagine how hard it was for those soldiers who came into this bunker--they both called it that--with all their gear on. This idiot and his son think it's called Bunker Hill because of the bunker on it.

I see a lot of Southern rubes in the Monument whom I'm convinced can't spell their names correctly each time they have to sign something based on how they talk, the sound of which also makes me think that each of them is outfitted with just the right amount of teeth--and no more--for eating pies and porridge made out of backyard rodents, but I'm sure this guy went to college. Probably had a nice home. And here he is saying this shit to his kid. How can you go that far in life and think this is a fucking bunker? The word Monument is right in the name of the thing we are in. How can you know that little about basic history?

But you know what? This is who that new Ken Burns "masterpiece" of a film--masterpiece my Boston ass--is for. This is why it's praised to the high heavens. Because most of those people watching it are like this guy. And when you've never seen the sun, a tiny flash of light is like some wonder to you. Because you're so intentionally stupid. It'd have to be on purpose but without you even being smart enough to know that you did it on purpose, because you don't know anything and are increasingly incapable of being able to know anything, and are probably already incapable of realizing something on your own, for yourself, with only your brain to help you do so, and the choices you make to seek out, to learn.

The bunker that was so awesome for hiding away in it--despite, you know, said bunker rising 221 feet into the air--that they named a hill for it.

Handy definition of "bunker" here:

a protective embankment or dugout  

especially: a fortified chamber mostly below ground often built of reinforced concrete and provided with embrasures                                                   

People don't even know what the word "bunker" means. But several million mentally ill people think the world is going to want to read their fantasy novel?

Then again, it's all just fantasy now. But that's the problem: It can be fantasy on top, but it's always reality on the bottom. The bottom line. And fantasy doesn't reconcile with reality, and ultimately, we all are reconciled by reality, if you will. See the problem here?

It's mind blowing how stupid we are. What were the people hiding in the bunker going to do? They were all going to sit on the stairs? Talk about impractical design. You could have the first guy--wearing all of his gear, of course--going all the way up and sit on the top stair. Then the next guy with all his gear on sit on the step below him. And so on. One per step with the gear, I figure. There wouldn't be enough room for everyone to stand up, but whatever. There's nowhere to store anything. Eat. Piss pots would be out of the question. You'd just have to go in your clothes.

It's not even the ignorance that's the thing. The complete lack of education. It's the nonexistence of brain power. How the hell could you see such a thing, go to such a place, even if you'd never heard of it, and not be able to understand that this thing itself is not a bunker? It's like looking at a stick and thinking it's a van. How can you not understand it's a fucking stick? But that's what it's coming to.

Romance, connection, burgeoning curiosity, a pull of one person towards the orbit of another, in whatever capacity, doesn't exist because people are only interested in themselves. They are only capable of being interested in themselves. That they're not themselves interesting doesn't matter. Ironically. That being this way makes them miserable doesn't matter. Also ironically. That they could stop being this way and become happier and more fulfilled and less alone and also the world a better place doesn't matter either. Again, ironically.

People behave, and chose to behave, in the manners that would cause them significant amounts of pain and loneliness. If that was their goal, they couldn't do a much better job than they already are, despite how they'd tell you that's the last thing they'd want. I want to say, "Really? Because it doesn't seem like that."

I think it's impossible now for someone to take notice of someone from afar and be taken and impressed by them and wish to know them, in whatever capacity. They can want to be with someone, but it would have to be someone they encountered in the same physical space. The bump-up-against them effect. The mind cannot be stirred or compelled or take notice of someone from a distance. No one could see someone else's profile on social media, say, be struck by their wit, their intelligence, be impressed by the bio, and feel or think anything about that person. Dig deeper. Become more curious and interested. It's just not possible anymore.

This is somewhat similar, and somewhat different. The latter because of my motives, or lack thereof. And though this isn't why I did this, there was an experimental aspect, by accident or incidentally. And, again, it's different, but there's some ideological overlap.

The other day I saw a woman claiming to be in pain on Threads. She was so alone. She hated having no one, couldn't face her life. Wanted to give up. I will see something like this and reach out to people. All kinds of people. Which would not surprise anyone who knows me or anyone who reads these pages. This woman also boasted in her bio about how she is all about the Beatles. It's her thing.

And who should happen to send her a note of depth and sincerity that could actually help in some regard? That isn't the usual, "You got this!" or some religious nonsense? The world's leading expert on the Beatles. Now, if you were that into the Beatles and you weren't illiterate, you'd know who I was. But, that's going to be nobody, basically, isn't it? But all you'd have to do, having received that note, is think, "No one writes like this, who is this person," look at the top of the page of the person who did write--you know, with the bio--and maybe click on the link to their website or take a gander at a few of their Instagram posts. What do you think this woman did? She responded with an emoji.

And you know what I thought? This is why you're miserable. You're a narcissist. You're not alone because you're so much smarter than everyone else or such a better person. You're just a narcissist. Now, that's many people, and they're not technically alone, though basically everyone in the world now is actually alone, regardless of who they come home to or whether they're frequently around other people.

Connection is essentially extinct. There's the illusion of not being alone. People cling to that illusion. They make that illusion happen. Here was this woman who could have known someone of a different caliber, and who that person was was totally lost on her, because she couldn't bother to take a look at anything beyond herself. The irony of the Beatles thing, too.

This is everyone. Sure, it's one example, but it's how everyone is. Then they do, "Woe is me," when they are the problem. They have made the world what it is, so that the world is a horrible, lonely, base, ugly, disconnected place now. This woman could be someone with the usual. Husband she doesn't love, kids she had so she could tell herself her life had purpose, fake friends. That she didn't is just bad luck. The chambers don't click in place for everyone on that score. Bad luck or "bad luck."

Some people have to be on the outside looking in. She just as easily could have been that person she knows who has those things and that person just as easily could have been living on their own getting wine drunk every night and fingering their cats and having relationships with the twenty-something actors of Stranger Things playing fifteen-year-olds.

And more! She could say she's a writer, and something like a healing coach for women, and that she's living her best life and guarding her peace and on her recovery journey and practicing self love. Sound like anyone? Yeah, it sounds like millions of people. Not one of whom is capable of seeing anything beyond themselves, even when something great turns up out of nowhere. Just comes to them. Arrives. They wouldn't even know.

When most people decorate they get out a tree and some tinsel. Me… I get out the wall paper

Why do you have to post that? You're not funny, you're not interesting. No one thinks this is clever. Whatever it means--with, of course, the latest examples of someone not knowing how second grade grammar works. Are you trying to make people laugh? What are you doing? This is all there is. This is all people can post because it's all they can think of. Why do they do it? This isn't someone who wants to share something. They have nothing to share. It's someone thinking, "How can I get attention?" Like, what? Someone is supposed to go, "Wow, they're creative!" or "Wow! They're so different!" or "Wow, what a free spirit!"

We can't do anything real because we aren't real. We've made ourselves these pathetic, needy, empty, mindless sputtering post-human illusions. Who all partake of the same stupid shit. Because if you didn't know what to watch next on Netflix, what would you possibly do? Think? The horror. Learn? Stop, you're scaring me. Set out--gulp--on your own for one bloody night of your life and see or hear or partake of something you haven't before that you found out about on your own and it seemed interesting, and you're actually able to have interests as an individual and even be an individual. I get out the wall paper (sic)!!!!

This is emblematic of the kind of thing I'd say because of the person who I am. It's not me up to anything or trying to be with someone. If the world was like one of those best-on-best tournaments--like the 1987 Canada Cup--and it was the best of us, there might be someone out there for me. But in this world? I don't think there's anyone who could keep up for two minutes. How are we going to be or do anything together? With my mind and what I'd need from someone else and theirs? And what I'd require of them from a moral standpoint? And that's before we add in someone wanting to be a part of this worse-than-hell I'm in, with no guarantee I'll ever get out of it, and chances being very low and probably nonexistent that I ever will.

I encountered a couple posts of yours this morning, and I just wanted to reach out with a few words. The first was about your mom. That's awful anyway, but to lose her at such a young age yourself...horrible. The holidays can be hard for so many reasons, and to have that feeling of loss--and such an unfair loss--mixed has to be incredibly hard. But I hope you feel her love this holiday season, and that love guides and keeps you and gives you strength. You had also mentioned never having been loved. I often feel the same way. Love is this thing that everyone professes to have and give, but I'm unsure how much love there really is in this world. It could be very little, as love requires so much of us--energy, selflessness, empathy, imagination, constancy, and that's not how we're wired and less so every day now it seems. But it only takes one person. Be that romantically, or a friend. And sometimes we can feel love in a gesture of true kindness that is meant for our well being and to help us. So. Have a great holiday. Don't close yourself off to anything.

You ever get a note like that from a stranger? How about from anyone in your life? Ever. Have you ever even gotten one that long? Where someone took that time to write you even that many words? I bet not. No one is even going to say thank for something like that. They're just going to complain about how they are not on the receiving end of that kind of kindness, when they just were. It wouldn't matter if they always were. They're all about themselves. They see nothing else. People see nothing else but themselves, and they don't even know the first thing about themselves. Not really. Who they are. Why they do what they do. Why they don't do what they should do. What would be better for them--and for everyone--to do.