Metropolis
The purpose of a system is what it does.
And while I flew over to the other side of the world so I had to share an aisle with two women. Best of friends. They talked most of the flight, and while I tried my best to ignore the conversation, it was tough. Seeing as they were the next two seats.
And by the shame of eavesdropping I only remember two things. For one, the talk about relationships again, about “phases of a life” or “you’ll meet someone” and how buoyant compared to my battalion disposition, a waiting for execution. For two, it soon leaned into some reminiscence, of the boys they used to love, classmates and smiles or reflections on needing to just “be”, needing to practice “being” or perhaps, if I recall correctly, “being alone”.
In their reminiscence they gave away their age. Nearing thirty. Why were they flying across the world? I guess the same reason as me, possibly. For a moment I imagined I was outgoing enough to enter the conversation, talk about some of the mystics relevant to just “being”, or offer some solace on the vicissitudes of existence and fickleness of romance. I got lost in this for a good ten minutes, wondering if I really will be someone different, that this flight is the beginning of a wild transformation. Then I remembered I almost always regret interacting beyond bare minimums, and returned to the book I was reading.
The worlds women inhabit seem far too foreign, or if I force myself I could vaguely imagine, vaguely. Maybe to the detriment of sanity. What is it like, walking about girlfriends and each one a potential enemy, each one unknowingly leading you astray? Women understand women, and they hate each other, as is often said. Is it true?
Nevertheless I was hoping to forget about all of this, readjusting my Pikachu shirt and huffing over to begin my excavation of Modern Traveling Neurosis, to get real close up and inspect the habits and wishes of those who rabidly feed into these economic circuits. Yet a few weeks in my research hit a trough, and after roaming many districts half-dazed I figure I ought to shelve it for next year. But so came the half inner whispers and curious wonder, an article about the reported Google Trends uptick in “solo travel woman”, or the bachelors sauntering so languidly in front of me until I matched their pace.
With a few more turn of corners and three more flights stairs, up, down, more adverts, plenty of desserts and even crane games, theatres, some lights and perfect spot Insta photos, I couldn’t connect the dots. What does this all add up to, and why are so many desperate to fall into?
After finishing a hike and enjoying one of the rare convenience stores with full seating, I grabbed some edamame beans and began curling my feet to ward away the cramps. But then it happened. I was forced to reflect upon the Sumerian Enki deity while chugging another bottled water, waiting for his insignia to form as snowflakes within the plastic. That all of this was another practical joke of his. Because two women sat behind me, and began talking.
And what did they talk about, you may wonder? Please understand I do not want to know either, but it was next to impossible seeing as they talked a decibel louder and were, as always, a foot away from my hunch edamame eating. At the time I didn’t realize this was another hand-off and puzzle piece to an answer to a question I didn’t even know I had waiting in me.
No matter how much I blocked out, I remember two things, as reliable. Instead of a narrative it was quips, and one of the quips was talking about relationships again, that “you shouldn’t rush into one” because then “it’ll just be a horrible relationship”, and that “there are so many people” in the world. A breakup, I suppose? The other quip was, again, “learning to be alone”. I snatched my bag and troddled out in haste, partly bemused and partly uneasy, partly because of how it rhymes with this trip’s beginning, partly because such conversations seemed in place for High School and it’s like whiplash to hear it decades later, reviving conferences and confessions or runny noses and tears I’d rather not remember. All lumping into a nausea I needed to walk off.
While stabilizing my hissing mind, staggering down the crowded sidewalk with another set of bachelors swaggering in front of me, I was struck by a month prior, where I sat by a pier bar and, again, unavoidably, Enki plucking my feeble human strings, overheard a conversation. I heaved up into my high seater, overlooking the beach waves, and was introduced with a, “I basically see my friends as family, I don’t even have a family, and if you aren’t with that this isn’t going to work.” Peering over my perch so were four women a floor below, probably late twenties to early thirties, and it continued with a, “we got engaged too quickly, too fast, and it’s like we were made for each other but at the same time I fucking hate him for it.” While contemplating asking for a different seat, but realizing I wouldn’t be sure what explanation to give, so continued a “like I’m just not going to play those games and I’m just straight to all my friends” and a symphony of nods and “mhms” followed.
Staring out into the waves and foam it all clicked. Snapping to reality I began to survey the people all around me, passing, groups of men, women, there were certainly couples, sometimes with a stroller, though of the couples, I mean, let’s be honest: how likely was this to last?
All of people dissolved around me and the previous stores flickered ahead, merging into the hills I hiked up and down and the temple posing, the Buddhist monks smiling serenely at me as though they knew everything — thousands of menus I must’ve passed through sheer walking, of all the fried foods and many languages overheard for whatever attraction, whatever advertisements and at last, finally, stranded in the center of the crosswalk with a car honking at me, I found the question and answer.
Question: What is the purpose of the metropolis & modernity?
Answer: To slowly grind all the peasants into chalk.
Question: What do you mean? How does this even work?
Answer: The plan is already executed. Right before you: you are in a civilizational fallout of the ages. Catastrophic, and it’s silent.
Question: Okay you’re exaggerating, aren’t you?
Answer: Yes, because it’s fun.
But I finally realized we’re already in a Great Filter: the social cohesion breakdowns and the “dating” playacting along with the “travels” or all the media, games, music, Big Events, dramas, hobbies, clubs and courses.
The Metropolis is the Morphine. It is letting those who need to go, go quietly, softly, starting from the 70s.
The relationships get more lukewarm and avoid the Big Checkpoints, and the finances get a little tighter, expectations a little higher, maybe there are too many “useless eaters” as whispered in the Bilderberg meetings… so let us safely offboard them and their family to a virtualized1 and hyper-real stimulus world. Some don’t leave their computer, others enjoy the playgrounds made of respectable cities, countries, shopping anywhere and further digitized through simple photos, performance, new and novel unraveled and checklists, stamps of each place, of the 48 states and you can checkpoint yourself into your 60s, 70s, and that’s the function.
The point of the Metropolis is to fill the void of those who refuse to, in some Confucius euphemism, “honor their ancestors”. Or, a Mencius concretely:
There are three ways to be unfilial, and the worst of them is to be without issue.
Roaming about, I felt the family trees melting around me. Of those with strollers, I vaguely felt they won’t last the next generation. And of those holed up in their room, what paths were there anyway?
The modern world and metropolis has to be a playground, to escort all of the now considered “surplus”, whether they’re voluntary or not. Robots on the horizon… why not? Unskilled labor is getting deprecated, and “skilled” labor is getting a major revamp.
I came to the largest metropolis to understand its glammer. But as I walked past all the eateries and all of the singles animated and fully “in it”, I felt the same chloroform pulled onto me, only deterred by my twitching and Pikachu heaving…
By a delirium the sinkhole below me was widening, and walking by the behest of traffic signals, I felt, for a moment, it was no different walking into a napalm carpet bomb as burial. The tunes piped out by each store, and the murmurs and laughs, felt like they were the last calls with our collective skin melting. I took a photo of my arm dripping off cleanly, and while I merged into the asphalt to be paved over for the next batch, I figured, at least, well…
Did you try this restaurant?
Footnotes
-
↩However, it helps us describe the problem we are trying to solve. Our goal, in short, is a humane alternative to genocide. That is: the ideal solution achieves the same result as mass murder (the removal of undesirable elements from society), but without any of the moral stigma. Perfection cannot be achieved on both these counts, but we can get closer than most might think.
The best humane alternative to genocide I can think of is not to liquidate the wards—either metaphorically or literally—but to virtualize them. A virtualized human is in permanent solitary confinement, waxed like a bee larva into a cell which is sealed except for emergencies. This would drive him insane, except that the cell contains an immersive virtual-reality interface which allows him to experience a rich, fulfilling life in a completely imaginary world.