November feels:

I fucking HATE our modern society. I HATE IT. Everything is completely unsustainable and utterly dysfunctional, and instead of blaming these corrupt systems, we have the tragic audacity to blame each other and even ourselves!

You and I are merely pawns in a game played and rigged by the elite few in power. We don’t need dramatic conspiracy theories of the satan-worshipping Illuminati to explain this. Those who bash such conspiracy theorists are the same ones loudly protesting the wealthy few like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk and all the rotton rich CEOs of the world making life hell for the rest of us. Guys, its the same damn story. People in power are fucking the rest of us.

What power does the average person have, really? Did the Indigenous peoples even have a chance against the European empires? What chance do us little people truly have to flip the script and change things for the better?

I try to stay positive and see the silver linings in all things, but I am running out of energy to grasp for meaning in a world that makes absolutely no sense. You can’t make sense of senseless tragedy. It’s something I learned after watching my daughter die. Things like witnessing the young die while the old live cannot and SHOULD NOT be normalized. This fucked up society we live in should no longer be normalized. This shit is horrendously broken and killing us all.

Despair beckons a journey with each of us at some point in our lives. Sometimes despair is the only appropriate response, despite what hope junkies and toxic positive preachers may proclaim. If you haven’t gone through the soul-crushing experience of despair, then I have no interest in any of your words of hope. You clearly haven’t seen yet how bad BAD truly gets and are therefore completely out of touch with reality. Before hope can come forth, despair must first reveal to us just how broken things are. How else would we know what needs healing?

Grief should be attended because it IS- because it demands attention, because it is an experience we are having. Every experience demands full participation or we will drown in the weight of their unfelt depths.

To sit with our own grief, without filters or desperate squinting towards an elusive silver lining, is Love. Its not the warm fuzzy kind. Its the kind that breaks your heart.

Grief is the ghost of your former self, wandering around in the dark wondering what the fuck has happened. She will keep calling out for you until you stop and sit with her. And you might sit with her and her bewildering pain for the rest of your life, who knows. But at least it will be conscious. You will be with yourself, whole. Full of pain, but whole. You won’t be racing around in this insane life only half alive and feeling as if you lost your soul somewhere along the way.

I’d rather sit with my grief-saturated self than continue as a shallow avatar of some flimsy future come (*note: in hindsight, this sounds like the upcoming Metaverse I am not at all excited for).

I fucking HATE our modern society, because it tore me from who I used to be, who I COULD be. So my act of rebellion against the machine is to sit with the girl it tried to kill, and together we shall weep. And there will be more life in those tears than our current culture can even handle. Perhaps these tears will become a raging river to wipe this Beast off the earth and water a new existence into being.

Grief calls for our presence. I wonder what sort of power is contained in our collective suppressed grief. Maybe it is the power we desperately need to re-humanize our existence.