It is the unfortunate truth that we spend all day creating our own problems, and then solving them, and then we go to bed thinking we've accomplished something when in reality all that's happened is the torpid turning of this frivolously sardonic wheel turned sideways on itself. World hunger and climate crisis and genocide and 90s sitcoms? If Earth even ever grows the meat to unbury the solutions to these problems, it doesn't matter because they were created here anyway. The entirety of human behavior is so physically inactive, so devoid of function, so circular, the whole deal kind of undoes the magnificently fertile evolutionary procedure. How could such a steady, plodding scheme built on the strong back of guess and check culminate in fast food and Jay Leno? Its like life, all of this strange, prepossessing, tenuous, planetary life auditioned beautifully and then slept through the performance. At the end of the day, the winner of the rat race is still just a rat.
Adulthood is unforgiving, cold, devoid of generosity. It exposes you to certain miscarriages of intimacy like identity theft or when you're driving behind someone and you can see their fingerprints on the trunk.
You see fat mothers hanging their laundry on their fire escapes and you see huge men in their creased, beige work boots draped over the benches around Honeydew Donut shops and you see yourself in the mirror at the end of a day that was too short and all of these things seem to burn the same image onto your retina - an image that will be dissected by your neighbors, misunderstood by your children, sneered over by your coworkers, and borrowed by the actors you watch on TV every weeknight.
