Member-only story
It Feels Like the End of the World
There isn't a life waiting for us — that life ended long ago
Billboards hovering above the potholed highways advertise fast emotions and useless products while the homeless sleep beneath the overpass. Dreams are for sale everywhere, and we look, but we can't touch nor own them. They paint a picture of a life we could live if we had the money, and the dreams aren't real, but there isn't anything else for sale.
Value manufactures our identity, and when we aren't building wealth, we're worthless. Existing to produce, consume, and incur debt doesn't provide material needs, but we justified the dullness by believing in the fantasy life dangled in front of us. We knew it was an illusion, but it provided our life and future with a hopeful purpose. There's nothing to distract us now.
The climate change disasters we hoped to avoid and the world we wished we could save aren't possibilities. The solid leadership to unite and guide us deserted us, and we unsustainably consumed. It's our collective fault, and some of us tried to delay or forwarn the catastrophes, but the system failed us, and we needed a leader. We die in a swamp of materials, and what a sad legacy.
Our future offers nothing but devastation, and it feels like the world has already ended. We stole everything we…
