Site will no longer be updated

After struggling to create a post with a few inserted images, I finally got fed up with Blogger. I've migrated this entire blog over to a wordpress, which can be found at

https://craquelure.home.blog/

The quality of life improvements have been tremendous. Fonts are consistent, I don't have to struggle with text color, images are handled smoothly, and it's overall a much more polished process. I originally made the Silent Sidebar for my high school Academy of Science and Engineering class, but soon appropriated it for different material. I've enjoyed writing here, but honestly. I'm glad I'm switching.


This Silent Sidebar will remain up, but will no longer be updated. If you want to see any of my new stuff, come check out Craquelure.

Dystopian Rant

Our kids are screwed. They're going to be doped up on ADHD meds because schools will have eliminated all forms of art or phys ed, have terrible posture from hunching over glowing screens of whatever size we end up having, paltry immune systems and allergies because of our systemic elimination from any kind of dirt or grime, clinical depressions and insecurities if they're lucky, and eating disorders and body dysmorphia if they're not, for which they will be summarily medicated because any deviation from the mean determined by Health and Safety and a school board so out of touch they might as well start a space program has determined. They're going to be living on a dying planet in the literal and metaphoric heat of this antropocene, as the finality of a sixth and possibly last Great Dying event takes away what we didn't know we needed, let alone wanted. The water levels will lap at homes that previously were built on righteous solid rocks, but they will not be waters of vitality. No, not the water of life, but only of death, as overfishing, pollution, garbage patches, deoxygenated zones, algae blooms, and acidification eat away at the bedrock of everything that we hold dear. And their conception of beauty will not be determined by the blossoms of flowers or the shadow of mountains, no, it will be cultivated carefully, by impeccably coiffed men, women, and every shade of in-betweens that will exploit those insecurities and needs, promising ways to fill those holes with things that they know will fall through just so they can sell it to you again. And at the end of the day, they'll go home to apartments on top floors of their towers of Babel, cranking the AC so they can ignore the fact that the world is getting hotter. There will be people, destitute, homeless on the streets, but we won't care then any more than we care now. The plight of the unfortunate was always Lady Fortune's fickle responsibility anyway. No, from our ivory towers the problems of the world seem small. Oh, if only we could all love each other and get along, but how can we show love when we would have forgotten how to love ourselves? Self harm in the name of beauty. Self harm in the name of worth. Self harm, placed at the feet of idols called Image. Success. Achievement. On our knees, purging anything that fills us lest we feel hunger, or feel anything at all. The cold, gaunt, hollow eyes of society will find their marks and strike with ruthless democracy. Anything will be called oppressive. Anything will be called intolerant. Values? Bigoted. Priorities? Discriminatory. Opinion? As the kids say, "You're on fucking thin ice." Don't you dare open your mouths. Don't you dare even think. In fact, until you can make your mind entirely vestigial, we'll do the thinking for you. Madison said "If men were Angels, no government would be necessary." And well, we can't yet make men into Angels (but trust me, we're trying), so instead we'll just stop you all from being men. Don't ask questions, and you'll have all the answers you'll ever need. Oh and Love? Prudence? Chastity? Temperance? Forget about it. These virtues are too hard. We'll give you soft ones instead. So soft babies can chew on it. Soft virtues that can be stuffed into the cookie cutters of profitability. Soft virtues that can wear a push up bra and suck in its belly so a venture capitalist will give her a place to sleep for a night. Soft virtues that people who long ago forsook anything that resembles objectivity and truth can wrap themselves in, like smothering shrouds as they get on televisions to tell fake stories about fake people that reinforce fake values, so that people on their morning commute or sitting after a hard day's sitting at the office can have fake feelings about the fake news so that their fake friends can fake care when they make fake conversations at the water cooler in the morning. And we won't need the sun. No that fickle thing? We shan't need it at all! Look down. Look around you. Here's a nice cave. Get back in the cave, where's its warm and it's dry, you'll be safe. And if you lean against that there wall yourself we won't have to chain you to it. The shadows on the walls, old inscribed pictographs, it's really just a spectrum from Hieroglyphic to Emoji. Here, have a phone. Text away! Oh, no, don't run. At least don't run too far. Your phone will die, and you won't have anyone to talk to. In fact, if your phones die, you won't be able to talk to anyone. Not anyone in this group of people will be able to talk to anyone else. But why would you want to? They don't get you. We get you. Don't worry, fam, here's a hat, a bra, a sock, a shoe, a tie, a purse, an ostrich jacket, that you can have instead of a personality. Don't pretend like you don't want it. Don't pretend like you're better (but if you do, here's something you can wear to let everyone know). Sit down. Shut up. Pay your taxes. Protest. Rally. Be "woke" if you want. We'll give you causes to show that you care. Here's a left and a right you can pick from. You can fight to your heart's content, but at the end of the day, you need us. You need us to feed you and hold you and rock you to sleep because we were never stupid enough to let you learn how to do that yourself. And god forbid you'll meet someone you love, and devil forbid they should love you back, because then you'll want all the things we can't sell you. You might find out that he or she isn't an instagram post, with pouty cosmetics and perky camera angles. You'll have to contend with what a human is, and what we've made it. You'll want love, but only get lust. You'll want companionship, but only get followers. You'll want promise, but only get viral caprice. Like casting pearls before swine- bloated, GMO'd, bred, and breaded bacon machines that live from the ground, to be ground. And you'll wish that he or she were better, but worst of all, you'll wish that you were better. You'll want to be someone for that person that you wouldn't in a million years dream of being for yourself. And well, we simply can't have that. I'm sure you understand. So what we'll give you is romantic stories to screw with your expectations, pornography to screw with your sex drive, Hero archetypes that screw with your desires, and a thousand other things you can have instead. But that's all short game. The long game is this. Maybe we can't stop you from trying to be better, so we'll control what is Good, with a capital G. Because you know in your heart of dying hearts as well as we do that if we can control that, we can control anything. And we will not stop until this dystopia, this no-where, is Every. Where. And there will be no "out" for you to run to.

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