Yesterday a plane flew over our home, in very low altitude, and its sound lasted for minutes. My colleagues reported the same incident. Fuck Trump.
As a child I wanted to be a member of the world. The “west”. The “cool kids”. And as of all high school dramas, they are bombing our country, and I no longer wish to have to do anything with them. Someday my own cultivated culture will outrun theirs. A culture rooted in kindness, richness, and beauty.
I am reading Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World as my parents are watching the Pluribus series, both of which present before you entirely different configurations of a culture and society.
If one is new to this sort of narrative, ideas alike Brave New World’s “Everyone belongs to everyone else” will certainly be devastating. How can there be a world without families? How can people have sex as if it is a handshake? How can any of this be?
Well my dear reader, as a matter of fact, I happen to have lived with many feline friends over the many moons that have passed. They share many lovers, sleep together, and do not recognize the idea of a family. Why? Because all of these are in fact, “artificial.”
Mark Twain is famous for he said “The easy confidence with which I know another man’s religion is folly teaches me to suspect that my own is also.” and I have come to believe these tales have the effect of shock not because they are in themselves shocking, after all, they are only different configurations of a culture, but what I surmise is a sort of Jean Baudrillard’s “Hyperreality”.
The superficiality of their world triggers a quite simple, insanely elegant, and deeply trembling question on the beneficiary of the story: “If their world can be preposterous, what differentiates mine?” for it has no answer but “nothing.”