There’s always been a lot of hand-wringing in the West about decline. Seems like every generation inherits some new Jeremiad about the comeuppance we’re about to be served; the overdue repercussions for a materialistic, alienated way of life. Things are too bad, or too good, to go on like this any longer.
Kali Yuga is breathing down our neck. Risk management is the new public ethos. The most important thing you can do is to remember to feel terrible. You’re only honest if you admit that you’re exhausted.
Imagine several generations of people, all partying together at a nightclub, all fantasizing together about the apocalypse. They want the night to end, they want to go home, but they fear the end as well, because they don’t want to go home alone. Let’s call the genre of music the DJ plays “Death Disco.”
On the dancefloor, astride the sofas, in the smoking sections, everyone talks to one another in manic tones. Every conversation revolves around some crime. Half the dancers try to identify with lawyers, judges, and (especially) executioners. They work, in essence, as unpaid interns, with no hope of promotion. Do they seriously think that their unsolicited cooperation with The Judge will give them a reduced sentence? Maybe for some. Others just like the pomp and ceremony of show trials. They think they’ll be better prepared for the Real Thing if they practice now.
Then there’s the other half of the dancefloor. This other half lives in the hope that they will one day commit a sin large enough to explain the crushing weight of the guilt they carry. These guys are lying the most when they try to tell the truth. They are criminals a priori, and they walk around the club with their eyes closed, bumping into strangers, knocking over drinks. They deserve pity.
Often, at the club, it seems like everyone is scared of having fun. Often, at the club, it seems like everyone is desperate for punishment. Often, at the club, it only makes any sense to be there if you’re getting fucked up.
It’s the Front Lines of Decadence, baby. Queue up. All are Not Welcome.