befogged

Rare these days I push the caffeine/cannabis combo near breaking point on a shift. Keeps me wired and confused enough to keep bouncing just above the existential horror that would leave me contemplating the reality of being a custodian, until the weight flattens the bounce, drags me down, how can it be so heavy when it's empty? Vaped cannabis oil makes minor pains I normally manage with ease feel intolerable, the short foreshadow of death, and everything's my fault, I'm responsible and a failure with a few months left to milk my thirties. Just let it dry.

Befogged..... you can tell by the extra ellipses. Breaking point is ever closer but I can usually forget about that, not let it torture me. I'll stipulate befoggedness is a certainty like the benign existence of Nessie the Loch monster. As every living thing goes extinct around you and me, Nessie persists like neoliberal capitalism, meta-stable, internal contradictions not yet past peak. It assimilates wokeness like a Ferengi-Borg hybrid.

Maybe I'm wrong and my masters are right. Maybe it's ok then, I'm a loser and that's the right order of things. Morality is crypto-zoology, too heady for me. The Leviathan ticks every box. No more war of all against all when y'all span the wall. We can self-select ourselves to co-exist with each other, like each other's annoying bumper stickers. When you're ill-defined to me, it's sick in the good sense, a manageable plague of muddling through, not meddling with meritocracy or fiddling with free markets.

Judging by my behavior in a low-stakes role, fucking up a lot and trying to self-justify, failing [to my credit] and having to face hard truths [cannily keeping the worst at bay], I wouldn't do well as a billionaire. With the self-rationale I could buy with a bottomless bank account, there'd be no stopping me from keeping delusions running. I could keep Nessie alive in that lake after all others have been drained. Just keep that lake alive. It's gauche to build a space ark, it's like worshipping the sky god, we're more nuanced than that. The owl at Bohemian Grove is a refined metaphor for elite sophists. When I go to the grove I network with leaders of firms that keep me believing in myself. Whatever access you think you have, peasant, it's not enough, you didn't get the net, it got you, you're in the algorithm, just a part of it, playing your part.