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Maybe I'm futile
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This is a piece of art. It took me 10 years to make and burned away in a single evening. Yesterday, March 31, 2022. The burning was the culmination of the piece. Experiencing it was glorious. Photo cc-by-sa Laura Hilliger
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I feel like I've been steadily growing quieter and quieter as the world crumbles. I feel myself holding back because what do I really have to say about war and pestilence and the destruction of our planet that someone else isn't more qualified to say? Who am I to scream into the internet void? How does any of what I say or do actually matter?
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I've been reading the war journal of a Ukrainian journalist living in Kyiv. I barely scan the headlines or doom scroll through Twitter. I didn't know that Will Smith slapped Chris Rock at the Oscars and everyone else at the co-op was asking if I had been on the Internet in the last several days. I hadn't, actually.
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The futility of it all is sticking its skull out of my turtleneck. My beloved internet isn't enticing me lately, I'm not keeping up. This week I joked that Web 3.0 is so full of BS, people will be fed up and Web 4.0 will just be a return to rotary phones. I wonder sometimes about the technology cycle, the reversal, the down curve – like how we can imagine globalization beginning to reverse as people try to buy more locally or how 80s style has come back. History repeats itself. Over and over. We're all still the cave people we were all those millennial ago, but the Web 3.0 crowd still seem to believe technology will save us and that the singularity will be a good thing.
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Maybe I need help?
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I often dream about opening a restaurant or a cafe. I waited tables for a long time, a good 6 or 7 years back when I worked multiple (hilarious) jobs. At the time, I hated it with the passion of a thousand suns, the service industry is awful. The nostalgia is different, of course. Oh what fond memories of debauchery and distain, frivolity in my approach to my own life and purpose. I was always me, and thus I always felt all the things I feel, but younger me... Surely younger me was less existential?
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I'm going through the motions and haven't had loads to tell you. I haven't been writing much. I've been making some things for work, and I've been futzing around my house. I feel like I owe you more, but here's some random fun stuff. How are you doing? Can I help?
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