Thursday, August 13, 2009

majest1k_w0n, the future, pt. 1, 381 words

Good evening, young people. I told you that you'd hear from me again.

I'm here to talk to you once more about something near and dear to my heart: the future.

I'm sure you believe you've already heard everything I have to say, a rage-fueled rant laced heavily with profanity and foul imagery. Why, yes, I did rather enjoy making that rant. It was rather cathartic. But now we get down to the real meat of the situation. Let me tell you something about the future. Or, rather, the futures: the one we were offered, the one we have now, and the one we're making.

See, the future we were offered... Well, we weren't really offered that, now were we? “Where's my jetpack,” goes the litany. “I want my flying car.” That bright, shiny, zeerust future promised by scientists of the 1940s and 1950s, once they were done contributing to titanic wars that showed how ugly humanity really is. But it's not our future. That future belongs to our parents, and their parents. It was sold to them, and like an old sofa, we're the ones inheriting it. Because they couldn't make it happen, they've been trying to offload it on us, living vicariously through their children.

I reject this future categorically. Like the old sofa, I'm hauling it off to the dump and leaving it there. It's not my future, and it's not your future. Eject it from our culture. It's dead and past time to take it off life support.

So what's left to us? And I'll tell you: the future we live in now, and the future that we're making of it. And I reject those, too, as vehemently as I do the dead one. It's time to murder the future, because it's going to murder us.

The future we live in now is poison. It's a construct born of the worst that humanity has to offer: new and exciting toxins, weapons of mass destruction, political superpowers, organized genocide, capitalism rampant on a field of blood, and the rhetoric that made and makes all that possible. Unprecedented interconnectedness and an incredible flow of information across the globe, but with a signal-to-noise ratio so low that everything being said is drowning in a babble of vainglorious self-revelation.

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