Thoughts Of A Hypocrite

I can’t help myself, I really can’t. My mind instinctively wanders to the more obvious questions of where all this, this, is leading to. What are we as a species doing with ourselves, with the planet we inhabit? What is the breaking point? When will we hit the Wall…the WALL??? My new job, the one that requires me to drive around all day consuming a very finite fossil fuel and helping to aid in the meltdown of that beautiful glacier sitting atop Mt. Baker, gives me much time for introspection.

Upon observing the daily goings on of the town I live in I have this reoccurring thought that I am witnessing the end of a culture…life as we know it in the first world (and in the United States in particular) is coming to an end of sorts. I'm not claiming nor subscribing to any fantastic “end of the world” scenarios, my ego is not large enough to allow for me to think that I can somehow predict the future.

And I know what you’re thinking. Every culture that came before us has, in one way or another, had some overarching “end of the world” myth. We are not alone in this thought.

The Wall I am thinking of isn’t in the form of a giant asteroid shattering the masses of land we exist on or anything like that. In fact, I think the planet will continue on without us the same way it always has.

Earth does not need us, it never has.

The Earth, and everything in it, is in fact not ours. If anything “belongs” to anything it would make more sense to say that we belong to the Earth, not the other way around.

For now, I am too exhausted to carry this thought any further. I’ll have to set it down here for now and pick it up later. If anyone reading this has anything they want to add by all means, add away.

Glitchin'

Trash day is a strange thing, the trumpeting sounds of hydraulic brakes conjuring up memories of Jurassic Park dinos and childhood mornings spent in a last minute dash to get the garbage to the corner before the truck passed your driveway. Should have listened to your mother, should have taken it out the night before you lazy troglodyte.

I’ve moved, for the trillionth time, into a nice little house with three others. Relocating happens so often that I don’t give it much thought. My life is motion marked by brief periods of stillness. Three months here, six there. Collect some junk then two months later drop it all back off at the same Goodwill you acquired it from.

Goodwill: Life, Recycled.

This is the American Dream at its finest; a room full of someone else’s previously owned shit that you now call your own. Lifestyle, recycled.

It all comes down to one bag. One ugly grey and yellow backpack purchased from a rather large chain “outdoor” store. I really hate this fucking bag. But it’s been the one constant, consistent artifact in a life of ever changing street signs, city names and home addresses.

History between us be damned, I still hate this fucking bag.

And now for some random pictures.



There's a fungus amongus.



Bro looking tired and old in an Irish kitchen.