…my journal is a waste of little magnetic thingies on this hard drive. Never post, and when I do, it’s all inane shit about plants. I’m a bit drunk tonight and feeling revolutionary. But I know it will pass, especially with a bit of Mallox.

You know, I do keep a paper journal. Maybe I should transcribe some of the entries in here. I mean I just filled up a 200 page sketch book in the last 3 months, that seems pretty prolific to me. Granted, only about 50 pages or so of that distilled might be worth someone reading, but it’d be a hell of a lot more interesting here.

Fuck modesty, I’m a damn interesting person. If only I’d write it all down. And if only I’d stay spiritually and mentally awake long enough to manifest that interestingness. Damn this Machine for keeping me down. And damn me for getting myself into the Machine to begin with.

And what’s the Machine, you may ask?

Did you ask?


Well, screw you too, then.

Anyway, I spent 4 years of my life in college. Best fucking years of my life. If you’re in College, you probably think it’s misery right now. I know I did. Exams, studying, papers, homework, blah blah blah. But open your eyes for a bit. Stop. Step back. Look around. Are you in a dorm? Then, you’re probably in the closest spot to Utopia I’d ever found. Are you in an apartment? Silly fuck. You’re already one-half into the Machine.

Because I know now what’s Out Here. I’ve been out here for about 4 years now. Out Here, past the walk up the aisle, wearing the damn silly hat and the robe, to grab the paper from the people you probably never met. When I was still a Sophomore or a Junior, I used to see Graduation as this death thing. After Graduation, I almost never saw those people again. They’d past on to the Other Side. But now, I’m on the other side. And what have I found? The Machine.

Why was college so great? Because it’s not the Machine. I went away to school fresh out of High School. !7 years old, just barely driving, from a small town. I met my first friend from India at school, and my first acquaintance from China, and another from Africa. I met others who were strangely like me, one of those freaks teased in the High School halls. But we turned out in mass at college.

But what was it about college that I find so utopic in contrast to this Machine in which I live now? Community. Youth. Closeness. Ideas. Culture. Commonality. Art. Friends everywhere. A forced lack of privacy. I lived in the dorms for all four years, and I wouldn’t have dreamed of moving out to an apartment by myself. I reveled in living communal-like with all these other young souls. We played cards in the hall, we talked until sunrise, I made love with the neighbor, got my heartbroken for it, served as grist for the rumor mill. At any moment of any day, I could walk just outside my door and be surrounded by voices and faces and feel like I was part of a little villiage.

But out here, I’m in a Machine. It’s a highly tuned structure composed of consumers contributing to productivity. The little cog people live in housing units in towns and neighborhoods, never quite a part of the ‘community’ there, unless it’s a hobby of the elderly. The consumer/producers travel in high speed, carefully isolated, shells of metal and plastic to their production units for the day. They return at night to sleep, rarely connecting with the land and people around them. (They call these ‘bedroom communities’.)

Privacy is carefully protected– but really, I think, it serves the purposes of divide-and-conquer marketing, advertising, and campaigning. The thresholds to making connections to other human beings in the structure are prohibitively high. Advances at friendship are considered with extreme suspixion and prejudice. The neighbor would rather call the police on your than speak with you, let alone make love with you.

Wake from sleep. Produce for the economy. Receive marketing. Purchase. Consume. Return to sleep. Repeat.

I think I’m starting to ramble drunkenly. The point is, this world out here is a Machine, built to help you sustain a little spot in the structure, build a “Career”. It’s not meant to help you live with your fellow human beings, and on the contrary helps out as much as possible to ensure that you never do have to deal with anything messily human.

And I’m getting tired of it. I want back in school. Live there. Get my Master’s. Get my PhD. Fuck, become a goddamn professor. Anything to get back out of this Machine some have called the Rat Race.

Granted, I haven’t been out here all that long, but I’ve been paying attention. And don’t misunderstand me, I’m a very prosperous cog in this Machine. I am payed well and my Career looks amazing. I am one of those people who came out just great in the post-Dot-Com world. I’m making enough money to hopefully very soon pay off all of my worldly debt and begin to accrue net worth. So this isn’t just sour grapes against this Machine, in any hypothetical sense of having not “made it” here. Just the contrary, I’m doing great by the Machine’s standards.

But then why do I feel like it’s crushing all the fire and life out of my Soul?

Because it is. I’m a faery being, and this cold iron banality is taking me away.

The light at the end of the tunnel for me, though, is my very success in the Machine. I can use it against itself. Take my debt away, earn enough to sustain my body, and maybe invest a bit so that I can live on and maybe even raise a family with a modest income. I give a shit about power, career advancement, money, and lifestyle that comes with it.

I care about deep, soulfull happiness, and connecting with the people around me.