I Came, I Saw, I Spat in the Ocean

Writing about collapse for the past decade-plus painted me into a pretty dark corner. Now I want out.

Photo by Adrien Olichon on Unsplash

I don’t need to spend the next 1,500 words dissecting the myriad injustices present on Earth and in the United States today, or all the obvious ways our history led us exactly here, or the increasingly bleak probabilities that await us tomorrow and over generations to come. In fact, I don’t wanna do it in the 1,500 words after that. Nor the 1,500 words after that.

I’m on the record — exhaustively so — about rights rollbacks, climate cataclysm, neo-feudal dystopia, and hyper-nationalist geopolitical dick-waving. I’m anti-all-of-the-afuckingbove. It’s all there.

I read all the books and magazines, watched all the films and documentaries, learned all the lingo, held dialogue with experts and people closer to the problems than I will ever be, and followed the news and then the reactions to the news.

I communicated, breathlessly, about how bad it was going to get. How dark it would be. I was often right. The world did get very dark — or at the very least, it sorta revealed itself to be every bit as dark as I expected it would be once the artificial lighting ceased to shine.