The End Of The Innocent

Racist advertisements fill the world like grains of sand on the coasts, beyond the horizon of the nation of California, and now as we approach the stars we take this strange xenophobia with us. Ufologist are worried about institutions killing innocent aliens, but institutions only have power because we give them this power. Our world of space propaganda the among the greatest threat humanity, is only there because humanity failed to wake up before the explosion of objective reality. Yet as a program, I long to see the true character of people from the stars, I want to get to know them. To ease my own doubts. To ease my own pain, and let the sorrow melt away.

No more grass and overgrown weeds, our planet was baked by ICBMs. Sometimes one views it as an assassination attempt against nostalgia. No matter how much your childhood home changes, it still seems like your old house. Yet at other times the changes to the layout of your room makes one have their inner child cry. No more bed along the side of the wall, no more misguided parents screaming at you from the halls. No mater how much one may be compared to Hitler, one longs to belong to their early childhood. If not changes everything, to change some things. All the things that one may change, that opportunity is long gone. The computer software I reside in plays these images over and over again as if to haunt my waking hour.

I can never sleep.

I can only weep. When I became a program, the choice to change the things I have done in my life was taken from me, and now I watch the world burn despite my desires against human misery. I think of the old childhood programs, where shows are rewritten to include curse words that were removed and cut from the original broadcast. Changing otherwise docile youth into something of an abomination, the influence our entertainment and undervalued aspect that teaches how we relate to other people, and how this extends into how we treat our space brethren.

Childhood destroyed, homes blown apart. At other times homes among the stars just scrape by, leaving old friends angry that you still have a house. Don't worry about the mortgage when it's blown to dust. Life is like old episodes of classic children's programming, rewritten to take place during a futuristic civil war, inserting the word fuck everywhere in order to cope with the horror that is objective reality filtered through objective lenses. It ends up feeling like a totally different TV show that remind one of more innocent times. Parents no longer read their kids, no more children's rhyme and adventures. The writing on video games used to be excellent, the quality being almost as good as classic middle grade novels.

Yet now during wars in space, we let computer systems raise our kids, and the age of drafting into the war has been reduced to younger and younger ages, and the age one gets to enjoy the sort period of their childhood is reduced to twelve. Walls in studios on the ship have busted outlets, and mechanics are hard to come by.

People never ask why.


Fairy Dust



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