amaxeme

[amaxeme]

gosh but like we spent hundreds of years looking up at the stars and wondering “is there anybody out there” and hoping and guessing and imagining

because we as a species were so lonely and we wanted friends so bad, we wanted to meet other species and we wanted to talk to them and we wanted to learn from them and to stop being the only people in the universe

and we started realizing that things were maybe not going so good for us– we got scared that we were going to blow each other up, we got scared that we were going to break our planet permanently, we got scared that in a hundred years we were all going to be dead and gone and even if there were other people out there, we’d never get to meet them

and then

we built robots?

and we gave them names and we gave them brains made out of silicon and we pretended they were people and we told them hey you wanna go exploring, and of course they did, because we had made them in our own image

and maybe in a hundred years we won’t be around any more, maybe yeah the planet will be a mess and we’ll all be dead, and if other people come from the stars we won’t be around to meet them and say hi! how are you! we’re people, too! you’re not alone any more!, maybe we’ll be gone

but we built robots, who have beat-up hulls and metal brains, and who have names; and if the other people come and say, who were these people? what were they like?

the robots can say, when they made us, they called us discovery; they called us curiosity; they called us explorer; they called us spirit. they must have thought that was important.

and they told us to tell you hello.

[amaxeme]

I notice that as my emotions grow darker, I gain motivation to write. Yet, until now I had no such inclinations. Before I was trapped in a place, and now I feel freer. The negative emotions I feel seem to give me fuel to keep on going with life, to be more productive. Maybe this is why the work cycle of capitalism works in the first place. As someone loses their mind more, they lose parts of themselves that say “no I don’t want to do this” or “maybe I should slow down.” Instead, we bury ourselves in doing something ‘productive’ to feel better about ourselves. While negativity seems to produce a sense of drive, what does positivity do for us? It seems to slow us down, make us want to live in the moment, to disregard productivity. Instead of losing part of ourselves we are finding out more about our own minds and bodies. Cultivating a sense of wholeness and completeness, which negativity and productivity seem to strip away from us. I know that there are many gaps in my thoughts, like people who enjoy their jobs, or people who do their dream job for a living. But therein lies the problem. ‘For a living.’ That sneaky little tidbit at the end. If one does something to survive, even though they may love it as a hobby, it will inevitably lose its charm. Very few people can honestly say that something they do as a living is a consistently positive experience while also being productive. And so, we lose out on a vast chunk of our lives working and moving around, letting our dreams evaporate, burned up by the hot rays of ‘reality,’ as some would call it. But I say no, it is not reality which deprives us of our dreams, but the system in place which forces us to choose to dream and die destitute, or live moderately okay and die dreamless. I do not know which is worse, but that is different from person to person, perspective to perspective.

[amaxeme]

Sometimes I look through old archives of the internet and wonder just how much has been lost. If what we have collectively preserved publicly is so massive, how much art has been left to fall between the gaps in the records. What has been lost to time, disintegrated by the disinterest of people. I mean, sure, maybe a lot of it was useless to most, but if even one percentage of the information that has been lost was valuable, then humanity has suffered greatly. I find myself remembering a time I walked through a pine forest, and seeing the various bits of plastic and waste left along the pathways and even taking up the hidden corners as well. Much like the idea of lost history, most of this stuff is discarded because of disinterest or inconvenience/laziness. But when I looked hard, I found things I wished I could use, if only time had not eroded them and left them beyond repair. An old car, with a partially intact engine decomposed by rust. A wooden pole, half eaten by the water it sat in. The fallen branches, however, were still usable. The vines and the bushes still lived on. Despite all that is lost, life continues to push forward towards its own inevitable demise. The feeling this leaves me with is a wistful sadness, a sort of soul-twisting, stomach clenching sense of dissonance. Despite all this, I continue on, I do not stop, marching in time with the heart that will eventually fail. Using the legs which will inevitably falter. Breathing with lungs that will collapse. Thinking with a brain that will simply not last. And yet, I still march. Maybe I am just like a discarded piece of plastic, incompatible with my surroundings, and yet refusing to deteriorate because of my design.

[amaxeme]

Wassup tumblr, first time back on this site in almost 5 years