There is a relative peace about me now. Regarding my immediate physical world. The quiet of a northeastern rural snowfall. The loudest sound outside is but the drop of countless frozen water molecules, gently hammering down upon each other in layers until the land is left blanketed in the absence of color while any light refracts back brightly from the covering the season cast upon us.

There is not peace in the world.

There is not peace in my soul, not quite.

There is a decay about, seemingly ripping away at the veneer of our humanity, while the cults of personality technocrats continue to pillage our most finite and revered resources- with time and attention being chief among them.

And as I, on an at least slightly regular occasion, feed into this beast, watching algorithms and morality void equations drive further to divide my mind and spirit away from the actualities of life and deeper into the ethically dark cyber hellscape. The pen is mightier, they say. But the folks who thought that couldn’t even comprehend the power of a touch screen poised to profit of the negativity this species is capable of. Reinforcing the worst of us at the speed of light, while around us content conjuring the mask of information bombards in both digitally rendered and transported realities, and the new scare monger machines seeming to grow in self-sufficiency after feasting themselves fat on the data we don’t often even realize it is taking from us.

But, as it was a snow day(s) and I was with the most important being in my existence (my daughter)- I aimed as best I could to be present in our home and in our deeds, with a rather high success rate. For it is her, and her peers, that will inherit this world next. And a mess it is, as a mess we’ve made of it, as our ancestors seem to be have been doing for a while now, with a selfish nihilism still reeling of the abundance of industrialization and technological advancement.

Still managed to hear about an execution, and see it, mostly. And that is all while not seeking it out. From the festering froth of internet connected interactions, the videos and images emerge. And from that, the opinions flush away the attempts at any social introspection. But without the input of any further say-so or hearsay, another human is dead in a situation that arguably could have been prevented. And that individual is appearing before us in digitized renderings because of timing, location, demographics and the historical provocation of implied interest.

Some other part of the world, or a few other parts of the world, may have had such situations play out in countless repetitions in whatever their recent history might be. The fellow and that lady, and so on, all with desires and hopes and fears and the sort, all ceased once the functioning of the biological vessel is forcibly abandoned. And while death is part of this whole business, meaning life, I ponder upon the necessity of unnatural demises, and find no purpose for the enforcement of such stances. Not while other measures can still be taken. And there is always something you can do, even if it doesn’t seem like it. Or, especially so.

Was briefly speaking to a friend about such affairs earlier. He expressed a relatable frustration. With himself, for not doing more. And with others, for not doing enough, or doing too much of what isn’t needed. I get the rage. Especially with your humble narrator being of the generation and from the part of the world where the idea of individuality is paramount and that there is a special bit we can all do to better and brighten our lives and those around us. The regular inability to live up to the impossible expectations created after such reinforcement grants us a particular depression that in this technological infested world seems to produce only a few legitimate fruits. Essentially, further and further ideological radicalization (of all kinds, decrees and denominations- and if you think yourself spared from that, I would ask you to think again, as I often have to do so myself)- and nihilistically, yet witty and hilarious humor.

And while I seem to be able to analyze and diagnose these symptoms (oh, hubris, how you are never very far from me), I continually fail in even conceptualizing cures. And I fear that the amount of tragedy it will take for us to render the ability for proper processing and response, will be more than the species can take. And that still strikes deep in my heart, that us humans should keep on keepin’ on. So often, the argument for it finds itself thin and flimsy at best, yet it never totally waivers, not from inside this skull and chest, at least. That we may not be here for any particular reason, but the reasons that we make for our existence need not be vile or vindictive or vicious- that good, vaguely and a bit along the lines of universal, is still possible. Perhaps it is a fight set to sustain itself in perpetuity, but from time to time, even for the briefest moments- I think we all can understand the desire the possibly unattainable wholeness.

Yet, the problem isn’t convincing someone already sure of that. As standing in a crowd with people who already agree with you does very little to change any contrarian perspectives, and perhaps only serves to sustain the opposite and further perpetuate the divides. And as a species, as a society, we tend to attack these symptoms with the sort of vitriol and violence that extend arguments into generational blood feuds, while the root issues only fester and grow in destructive capacity. And all the while, the opportunists, perhaps with a sense of vindication from some past, perhaps ancient value distortion, continue to profit or plunder our collective humanity while further vivisection sally’s forth unimpeded or invigorated towards the future.

And so here, the hypocrite sits and thinks on page. Crusading in a way that he doesn’t understand, all perhaps as a deflection from his own deficiencies. Change few, if any hearts and/or minds. If not because the lack of potent content within the prose, certainly as an inflection of limited outreach. Oh, the written word in an age of instantaneous images and video. Oh, the man older than his time, attempting to fend of an atomic bomb with a sling and a stone.

Or maybe it is that very human, and hopeless defiance that will save us. According to certain histories, it has worked before, at least for a time. And even if the truth of our tragedies gets skewed, it is in our stories where we so often find our humanity. Our stories, and in the people that we meet. The people that we love. And the people that we hate, as we try and learn some other way to see them. But the key is that you have to try. Every day, and in the ways that perhaps you’d least expect- we must keep trying. As the abyss is going to get you anyway, no matter what you do.

So, I say, let’s make the best of this mess of massive space rock and all us stupid, little beasts upon us. I cannot undo the death already dealt, as none of us can. And while claiming no miracles, know this- I would turn the water into whiskey, not wine. But eventually, I’d have to turn it all back. Can’t live on ethanol alone. Just as we cannot live on hating each other forever- even if we have been doing that on and off for millennia. Eventually, the gig runs out if you keep it up at that pace. And we are at all new tipping points, the likes of which these simple little simian brains have not quite seen the like.

But still, somehow, I find resolve at the end of this. Perhaps in folly. I could walk away from this and find some new tragedy emerging. Either personal or planetary, I have left these rambles to historically find both. Yet, I believe I shall still be returning next week. If not to succor the helpless and needy, at least to keep my own soul from disintegration or degradation.

Another week, and so, the Knight of the Veracious Façade goes forth, and onward. Still, somehow, willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause.