Love-Letters From The Anthropocene #1

(Stream-of-consciousness psychography from the edge of the eschaton, originally posted at

We’ve got an infestation folks. They’re crawling around the walls. Can you see them, smell them? They’re silent, you’ve got to be careful. But they’re the last thing you’ll hear before it goes dark.

The convicts are running the prison, no doubt. We’ve set ourselves up. Why did we make ourselves patsies? Stool-pigeons ratting ourselves out to the policemen in our heads?

That’s the way it goes I suppose. We freethinkers like to yell and beat at our chests. What ubermenschen! We will rot like the rest. Entropy is the house we live in and the house always wins.

Don’t get it twisted, friend. I’m right there eating my golden apple along with the worst. The sour juice drips down my chin. I should bottle it and sell it at the markets. Small-batch, artisanal. Only costs a shiny penny and you know you can’t beat the price.

This isn’t a prophecy because nobody is surprised. We just stick to the facts here, ma’am. You go to sleep at night chuckling about black-iron prisons, and wake up in a steel sweat.

The darkest timeline is the edgiest timeline, and don’t we love ourselves some abrasiveness?

Look how rebellious we are now, mom. I have spit upon your icons, dad. But we of the final generation have no parents, so there is no one to rebel against but ourselves.

What a self-immolating exercise!

Listen. The demons ride our skins and fill our souls.

Do you doubt me? Of course you do. Come, eat of my bread and drink of my wine, but never ask me what I’m hocking.
Advertisements scream endlessly in your face, the visual noise a cacophony. How much room have they already taken up in your mind? In your soul? Small slivers scraped away, bit by bit, and replaced with… Them. Do you feel it? Does it hurt?

We are thirsty golems made of locally sourced material. Sponges, sucking up the best premium-mediocre living has to offer. Every mouthful a dead thing. Every inhalation carries molecules unseen. Humans detest the smog, we prefer to keep our toxic air invisible, thank you very much.

What a crowning achievement! Make poison undetectable and suddenly it’s more palatable. We don’t mind having our bodies ravaged by noxious inhalants, as long as we don’t see it. The illnesses they breed are accepted, inevitable. Who would have thought a monopoly on air was achievable?

Oh, glorious Leviathan.

From the Anthropocene with love,

Equanimous Rex

Equanimous Rex
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Equanimous Rex

Writer/Podcaster/Esotericist at The Witch-Doctor
Equanimous enjoys wandering verdant forests, playing with dogs, and cascading ontological shock. He is a writer of non-fiction for Disinfo, and Modern Mythology.

He is one of the active participants in the Fallen Cycle mythos, a transmedia project that includes comics, music, podcasts, novels and more.

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Equanimous Rex
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