Political Comfort

Sometimes I could envy those who still have talking points to share. Especially those real good-feeling ones. The ones where we just make everything magically better somehow, somewhere. We’re all in this together!

And, of course, let’s not forget the opposing end, with a little more controversy too. We must keep something stable, or adapt toward a reasonable expectation of our fellow citizen (now global, because we’re always going to be global).

In either case, of whatever talking point, it’s enviable because it is one of the few places left where you could feel “right” by your decisions. Make sense of the world and where it’s going. You’re certainly on a team now! Hijacking your village daydreams. Doom about for a bit, before we’re back more than ever.

And yet on our horizon, perhaps ten years or less, we’ll begin to deal with biotech advancements and drone fleets headshotting dissent. The more we unlock the genome and figure out how to weave it all together, perhaps mimic some of the higher ones up and make clones, well, hell, let’s just make anything at all! You can have your state-mandated cat girl, if you can stave away the purposelessness when robots deprecate you.

When a man retires from a 40 year career, sometimes he only lives a few years after. Because he loses the very sense of what he is: and as we hurdle into the “next age” the very sense of what one could be will be murky.

Dodging the fumes designed to specifically target you or close cousins, mutations and third arms and around the corner you will see lifeforms fused with robotic helpers that’d place the Nephilim as child’s play. The secret shareholders observe far from above.

One’s very sense of agency and ethics shall tremble as we take the next step toward our creators, from whichever where they came and left us here. We aren’t even talking about the psychological infestations waiting as one masters each feeling-generation machine pulling you closer, driving you to the next rally in the cult-of-the-month.

In many ways, though a slow chloroform march, with a headache now and then, for the most part, there’s a relative peace to be had, if you seek it. But that chloroform world we’re in is rapidly deteriorating.

What’s on the horizon will eat souls.

I, for one, look forward to being the drone pilot in my glass dome bunker while the bioengineered banelings roll around aiming to melt skin.