Re-attaching
I’m conceding defeat. I’m hooking the internet back up in my house.
Six months of attempting to immerse myself in the physical world. Six months to figure out that nobody is actually in that world anymore. Nobody worth talking to, anyway. It’s a desert out there. The internet might be full of bots and weirdos, but at least it’s possible to find those diamonds in the rough. All I’ve got in the physical is my immediate family and the schizo down the street named Josh. They’re the only people locally I have anything in common with.
People at the library are all out-of-touch liberal boomer types. Programs on the radio are either raging Zionists or climate change activists. The young people on the public college radio stations are the only ones who bother to play anything new or interesting, God bless them. Over-the-air television is made for women, for when they run out of garbage to binge-watch on Netflix.
I’ve gotta get back online and start making my own content. It’s bad out there. Real bad. We’re entering realms of being the inverse of having a culture. A realm of anti-culture.
I spent the first half of the day yesterday getting all the networking equipment wired back up. My original modem is too old, so I’m waiting on a new one from the ISP. Apparently, they let us have those for free with the service now. That’s an improvement at least.
Speaking of being anti-culture, have you tried reading modern-day book releases? Unbelievable drivel. I’m not saying that I’m a master wordsmith by any means, but these newer books from the publishing houses are seemingly crafted to repel my sensibilities from every possible angle. As if they were written out of pure spite. They’re insufferable. I hope the hedge funds feel they’re getting their money’s worth flooding the world with this garbage, because I’m certainly not buying it.
The only good culture left is either really old stuff, or the most recent creations from young independents online. I’ve got plenty of the old. My brain is yearning for some novelty.
Perhaps I should do that cross-country bike tour next year? There’s some novelty. Gotta do it before I hit 40. Before the nation is completely unrecognizable.
Either way, I’m jacking back in. Gotta bend like a green swaying reed in the wind - not an old curmudgeonly brittle stick that’ll snap with the first gale.
Temperance. Temperance is what I need. Not abstinence. That and a clear vision for what I need to be focusing my time on. We’re working on that. ‘The Secret’ experiment is still ongoing.
