President Beast

The richest man in the world walks around with his child on his shoulders as a human shield to dissuade a head shot.

His rockets rain down on us and they explode and they devour the ozone layer.

He runs the empire and he bleeds it dry and still he won't stop or be stopped.

He is the richest man in the world and he is not happy.

He is angry and bitter that his son is now his daughter so we must all suffer and we can.

There are no risks of the mind.

The students are mindful and healthful.

They are studying business and they want to be rich.

If they were the richest person in the world they would be happy and they wouldn't have a child that they wear as a human shield.

The birds sing in broken choruses.

They are fewer now.

There is no getting the band back together.

Extinction is forever.

Hey, hey, humanité, how many birds did you kill today?

All we needed was dogs and bicycles, soil and water and music.

That was it!

What could have been.

The young know the feast is coming to an end.

The scraps and the scrapping.

We don't know how to live or what for, not really.

You feel it has always been like that even on the savannah or in the jungle but you don't know.

You might say these things to feel better for yourself and the others.

You don't know, not really.

Maybe it was always like this or maybe not.

There is war and pestilence and hunger and genocide.

How can it be that we have these things when we are so far forward in time? This was supposed to be the future.

Time is but a construct they say.

But I say no, actually. We are one thousand years forward from the year 1025 and that is objectively a long time in reference to a human life.

But they insist time is subjective and, well, who am I to argue.

Numbered years are the construct.

We don’t agree on this.

Tell me you’re not telling me you think there was a year zero?

We seem to have different ideas of time.

Should we be more? Should I?

The social fabric is tearing and the abyss beckons.

There is an evil man and he must be stopped and must die.

You go viral but it's best not to understand why.

The richest most famous YouTuber is something called Mr Beast and he crashes the world's most expensive cars for clicks to generate ad revenue which enables him to become even richer and crash more cars.

This is a sentence that should not exist.

The internet is shit now.

There is talk of him running to be the American President, Mr Beast.

President Beast. Beautiful.

The internet can make it happen.

The internet is shit now or you are just old.

It used to be something you reached for, it is now an appendage of you.

We are outsourcing our brains, unthinking ourselves, scrolling into the abyss.

There was a pandemic and the virus lives embedded in all of us for eternity. It resides inside of humanity until the end of time.

Whatever that means and whenever it is.

Objectively it will come with the red dwarf and the supernova sun but it's pointless to worry about it now.

You’ll be long gone.

But for a boy, reading that the entirety of everything that has ever existed ever will one day not exist? It was a lot.

The finiteness of everything was a lot for a boy, when I read it.

I think about me then, now.

And what time has done.

I watch sports. SPORTS.

The football and the tennis, mainly.

They are owned by oil sheikhs and gas men. The sports.

A man kicks an inflated piece of plastic and his wealth grows beyond countries.

A woman hits a fluffy ball of rubber and she can dine like no one in history.

What a strange way to divide things up.

But no one seems to think like this.

So I keep watching.

So on we go.

It’s good to outlive monsters. To try at least.

I log on.

I scroll.

I for one welcome President Beast.