asphyxiate

We live in the most wasteful world.

Not only regarding material things, either. But also the sheer amount of information and advertisements and files saved and statuses updated and accounts and usernames and passwords and Tweets that will forever live on in the ether of the Internet.

It’s overwhelming. The amount of...stuff. It stresses me out.

And from what I’ve gathered, I’ve concluded that hardly any of it even remotely interesting. Or valuable.

We live in the age and era of spam.

And it’s not just in our inboxes and mailboxes anymore. There’s spam, EVERYWHERE.

And, it seems that most ev-er-y thing is spam.

Entire industries (I’m looking at you, online fitness coaching). YouTube commercials. “News.” Noise. Music. Made up job titles so we can feel important.

It’s all bullshit. It’s all a waste.

The “marketing campaigns” we “conceptualize” and “strategize” and agonize over in meeting after stupid, endless, meeting. That we pour money and time and effort and “man power” into. Allowing these things to stress us out and sour moods and strip away time with family and friends.

And what about the apps or logos or Internet banner ads we meticulously build and design and over which grown ass men and women get in fights? Bitching about which font to use or bickering over some other equally useless minutiae.

How about these companies and establishments that dot our highways and line our streets? What the fuck do all of you do? Mile after mile, city after city. The next time you are out and about, I urge you to watch the buildings whiz by from the comfort of your probably-overindulgent car.

A car you probably paid too much money for for no damn reason while fully functional but less-than-“perfect” vehicles are cast away to rust and rot and die at the bottom of some lot in some forgotten town in the middle of Nowhereville, USA.

All of our waste and stuff and shit has to GO SOMEWHERE, guys.

And it truly baffles and disheartens me that more people, myself included, don’t notice more often.

We eat shitty “food” that can really only be described as science experiments which then turns into literal shit. And then we flush it down a toilet, an act which takes over a gallon of water by the way, and the food that we don’t insatiably shove in our stupid, gluttonous faces is thrown away without a second thought.

More stuff. More spam.

More, more, more. Always more.

Our trash sits in monumentally disgusting landfills creating the only elevation in the flat and sinking shithole that is Florida.

Our oceans are polluted.

But so is our air. So are our black, jaded, hearts and too-big TV screens.

Screens that never shut off. Screens that offer us brain-dead consumers these never-ending documentaries all claiming to be so informative and eye opening and educational so that we can feel like superior, well-bred, citizens instead of the absolute human garbage we are. Thinking we are all-important and all-knowing just because we watched a 90 minute documentary about saving whales or something one random Sunday when we were too hungover to get the fuck off the couch.

We tell our families we “have to” travel for work in order to attend very important industry “trade shows,” aka a mess of spammy people, selling their spammy products, services, solutions, companies, or even their spammy selves. For 2-3 whole fucking days. Eating cardboard food with cardboard people listening to some twat “keynote speaker” yammer on about leadership or critical thinking or the power of social media / AI / blockchain / BLAH BLAH FUCKING BLAH.

So much bullshit and noise and selling and pitching and pollution. All day. Every day.

So inundated with flavor-of-the-week trash ass music blasting in our cars that we happily listen to when we’re not trying to keep up with all the real-time “news” that’s trending on Twitter and scrolling in big, bold, fear-mongering letters on Fox News and CNN and ABC, NBC, CBS, TMZ, MTV, BET…

Oh. My. God.

And there is no filter. It is inescapable, this insurmountable amount of noise and sensory overload filling every moment of our meaningless lives, so we never truly know or value a moment of silence or stillness or solitary confinement or nothingness.

Just filling every gap of time and space and silence with more shit, contributing to this giant monster of crap and the rapid downfall of everyone’s sanity and personality and quality of life, including our own.

Scrolling through thousands upon thousands of Instagram posts of different people posting the same content. The. same. shit.

Through years and years of Facebook posts and profiles identical to the one just before it.

And calling this entertainment.

Calling this:
friendship
fame
fulfillment
talent
popularity
REALITY
inspiration
happiness

Calling this human connection.
Calling this Life.

Even this blog and this blog post is spam and it’s BS and it means absolutely nothing.

Most of you who even do me the kindness of reading this or anything I post for that matter will understandably only do so once and then promptly forget I ever wrote it, revisiting my blog only when I cave and succumb to the act of spamming you via social media to READ MY BLOG! with alarming, unnecessary, urgency.

Everything is disposable. Everything is trash. We all die.

We are all going to die one day and it’s astonishing how, fully aware of this reality, we choose to spend our sparse currency of “caring.”

How we choose to spend our limited time here and what we choose to give a shit about.

At the end of my life, the only things that will matter are the real, human, connections I made or had the good fortune to stumble into.

The intangibles.

The life-long friendships. The first kiss butterflies.

The memories created. Laughter shared. Experiences had. Adventures and destinations that breathed new air into my jaded, cynical, bitchy soul.

The good wine. The great sex. The home-cooked food. The music that changed my life and movies that made me feel something.

Growing up. Growing together and growing apart.

The family dinners before everyone grew up and grew apart.

The day-after-Christmas breakfasts and nights doing nothing and that one time with the hats, remember?

The late night conversations and the giggle fits and tears and beers shared with the ones who, at one point or another, meant something to me. Helped shaped me. Filled my life with joy.

When is it that we become okay with anything else?