As the heavy equipment drowns the sounds of the forest away, Bathala leans toward you and tells you something: That your future has no cool breezes that carry the songs of starlings, no slow and tranquil sunrises that you watch from soft grassy hills next to fires with blood and kin.
It is a crushing cube.
The place they are building is a distillation of mercantilism without the evidence of history to compare it to. A civilization without the judging gaze of Baron Haussman or Vitruvius to condemn it’s designs. There is nothing for the sake of beauty, nothing to connect man and nature or past to future. There is only the inhuman creed of branding against the cheap veneers of utility for commercial success. The enclaves are the results of marketing CRISPR. There is a formula. Data painfully collected by the hunched data farmers of decades of cubicle work.
It is a place not subject to the counterveiling forces of environment or polluted by chance or natural process.
This is their vision. A spiritually barren consumer colony in place of a nation, a transhuman machine powered by a living algorithm that has harnessed biological life completely, totally and without exception to serve the end of the abstraction. All life forms under total economic integration to feed the fevered hungers of the mercantile cabal and it’s nerdish, ego driven dickwasher class of techno managers. The nations under its aegis are not manned by charismatic descendants of its blood founders but rather a decrepid and misbred industrial service people. Here you see it’s sons, their destinies thwarted and deformed…they are a punchline nation of power bottoms, their brains engineered into manic purchasing frenzies . A generation of meatless Monday school boys with the endocrine systems of aging castratti choirs, their internal bio compasses reoriented to transcend circadian rhythms and intuitive response to holy calendars and instead to swarm, to buzz together in Big Bang Theory voice in great colonies alligned with the turnings of the techno solstice. The markers and shared meanings of their lives will be found only in new releases and product drops.
He tells you the future is Tegucigalpa, but with coerced subscription services, public troughs accessible only with QR codes and Amazon prime that sends robots to lock box fortresses near black neighborhoods. There is a separate area of the city…not for you, that is enclosed by a wall of interface service kiosks and state department funded art installations. Behind its walls is a a place of higher tier service agreement living. It is the neurotic spiritual offspring of Tel Aviv and Madison Ave with an adopted control apparatus crafted by Beijing. The explosive demography is administered by a white collar Brahmin Raj of subcontinental taskmasters and their freakish allies… in all spheres of life a vicious team of Hans and Trans collaborate as managerial Mandarins…and as your tormentors.
The city of the future is a work hive of deracinated, spiritually and physically defeated people in cage apartments similar to ones in Hong Kong but with composite board espresso facades...the kind that can be advertised and desired as part of a modern aesthetic.
You will want to live far away from this monstro-city but you cannot escape this. There is an expensive and state of the art high speed mass transit system that connects cities to small towns but one where you where you step in hobo shit and are robbed by REDACTED whose identities are protected by the state media. There will be hidden towns off the lines. A place where the wealthy will live lives relatively unencumbered by the technologies that they use to amass their fortunes and control the plebian underlings.
5 men who fund the foundations that exterminate free humans own the bulk of aerable land. They produce anti racism training and research sun blocking. They would never let you live in the small town your grandparents grew up in. It is theirs and they wear it as a skinsuit as they walk around in former farms and shops of the old America, larping as the people they eradicated. Profilers call this “souvenir collecting” and this is what serial killers do when they fetishize objects and sometimes take on attributes of their victims.
The frontier between the dysfunction of the urban hives and the far out remaining livable towns and preserves of nature will be eradicated in the way that the steam engine erased the distance between the industrial east and the frontier west. But unlike the west, this will not be accomplished on the terms of mountain men and adventurers but on that of bureaucrats and voracious federalized adrogynes wielding anti human statecraft whose core structures would be threatened by the natural polarities of life.
This is the city they build before you.
Inside this city a man will exist…he will be at home in a small rental living space and is being watched by his appliances.
He works there…His chair has biometric sensors and notification lights for inactive periods. His health plan collects information about him throughout the day.
He works for a company…you don’t know the name but it doesn’t matter because all companies are the same company.
All human resource stock is managed through an HR intermediary firm funded by Ibrahim Kendi books to which employers outsource all personnel decisions.
This makes him nervous because his thoughts intrude and his work is on a shared platform and adspace is driven by biometric devices in the required OS. He thought about going camping and was bombarded with REI ads and now he experiences terror at his own thoughts and looks with great anxiousness for escort advertisements and zweihanders…reminders to finish his custom ink shirt template design filled what could be hate group symbols. He is not sure, they say now that a man posing with a dog is code for a form of racism, that dogs patrol blackness, which is insane but also true and cannot be discussed. He thinks maybe he should wear a plain shirt like Zuckerberg. But even thinking about it can lead to being flagged by the algorithm. A transgression could prove deadly to him. All facets of living from transportation to food delivery in his rectangular communal apartment system are provided via subscription services. To receive cancellation is to be unable to live at all.
A video call interrupts his screen. He is played live footage from his door knob.
He is reproached by two females. One is the same person you have seen maybe a million or so times. A sanpaku eyed harridan type with state college issued bright red baby bangs who stares into the abyss of her phone. The other is black, maybe 30 but could be 50…she looks unstable because she is, and she has a “moment” that she seeks to recreate.
She is one of a quickly growing category of people: those whose minds have been programmed to re enact moments they have seen in media. Powerful images and scenarios, pure narratives that root them to a “lived” experience…but one they have never actually had but merely reinterpret and use to shore up their identity as part of their group.
To have an authentic life, one in which your experiences are rooted to your sense of identity by reality is a human need but they took this away. They took reality itself away and left unequipped people a form of hyperreality where signifiers and referencing take place of actual life. This creates a great insanity with which this man must live.
The narrative masters have astroturfed character arches for such people devoid of internal spirit. You see it in an innocuous way when people re tell the jokes like certain television personalities or they see themselves and each other through the lens of fictional characters. But then they see a completely ahistorical netflix movie written by screen writers who met at Hillel in college and now they have felt the past. They must act now because they somehow know that history repeats. Never Again.
They form para social relationships with system spokesmen. For many years now everyone in offices telling jokes or stories gave the same dry delivery as the homosexual man in the Big Bang Theory.
But she is far more insidious than even this. The new consumer-citizen is unable to interact with the world in process of discovery or individuation, but only to consume and scan for opportunities to launch into these preprogrammed responses. This vicarious living to them is the only true reality. Something in their psychic core has been replaced with exagerrated sociopathic personality traits and amplified at scale across the termite mound one incorrectly calls society.
You see this in films and especially advertisements. The cover of every movie released after 2010: the arched eyebrow, the insufferable smugness and furrowed look of the female lead. She looks to scold you, or revel in and self righteous indignation. sometimes both. These are the manchurians of Gatorade and deodorant commercials, the sneering grrlbosses and lesbians of adverts for the NCAA, sports apparel and Nissans. Their entire lives are directed only to re enact and to deliver retribution in either grandiose or petty ways.
This woman buzzes at his door. She starts with a snide tension in her face. A tear welling from gigantic, bulging Viola Davis eyes…this is a tear of rage. She saw herself once in The Help. Her blood pressure engorges tiny veins under her eyelids. A ream of snot hangs off her flat, flaring nostril and she begins to retort. Maybe he made some banal observation…but now she seizes the opportunity. He unwittingly triggered a kill response because he said something declarative without a submissive pleading tone when he tried to reschedule his compulsary visit.
She is a schizotherapist…a liason between political agitprop and therapy. This is what universal health care means under the nexus of state and corporate sponsored reparative health programs. Here, Amazon and Astra Zeneca in partnership with Dept of Public Health promise to “move forward as one”. People will receive post racial healing therapies…..she saw him on the ring camera. She knew he was home and would not have “the conversation”…now he is reminded on all of his aps. He cannot access his fresh cart and all he has is some cantelopue and edamame.
This mode of existence, as a vessel for the vassals of globohomo, this life as nothing more than a human resource for materialists, a walking flesh farm for the attendant industries of hidden, big arrow potentates is of course terrifying to all free life forms.
You feel a certain hopelessness as you watch them advance their tech into the far reaches of God’s country, into the last of the mysterious and silent havens.
Your face frowns and you hang your head. You feel heavy and uneasy.
But now you feel a very powerful grip of a hand on your shoulder. You look up and see Hugo.
He tells you that it can’t be stopped, that the big arrow will be armed by quantum programming and that no one in its charge can be reasoned with.
But he reminds you that the bear too, reasons with no one.
He tells you right now there is a man in India who has been planting a huge forest in a sand bar. That 50 years from now they won’t be able to find the nearby village from the air.
Right now there is a group of friends who lift weights together before church with their pastor. They take him out for steak and eggs after service. They are planning a camping trip later this year. They will release a pelegrine falcon that has been recuperating in the rectory.
There are others… a tree planter with his grandson, a Germanic Chicagoan who collects various flowers and plant sterols for homeopathic bodybuilding. He is joined by a racist Caudillo who makes a type of cactus paste that prevents cancers. There are men who come to honor Kami and men who camp in trucks, tame horses and stare into the eyes of jackals.
There are millions of these friends who are finding each other in cities of disrepair and in the wilds in search of respite and solace. But the world is becoming smaller…it cramps them into corners and cages. They grow restless and see the great beasts of predation fighting while everywhere they turn they are stymied, constrained and feel leashes tethering them to a great unknown darkness ahead.
Soon they will find themselves here. But you are here first, with Bathala and Hugo and the men who trace the trails of ancient giants. Now he tells you that you must step out of the shadow.
You will attack at nightfall.