Faramarz kills the king of demons (jinns), from the Shah Nameh, 10th century Persian epic of the Kings

Some years ago somebody I knew chose to sell their soul to Jamie Dimon. As I've written before such decisions - like degenerate gambling on stock options - are the only rational economic choice at this stage of American decline. If you recognize the trajectory of biosphere collapse, why bother making a difference? Of course, some of us actually believe in something; shocking, I know, but it's an unfortunate fact that must be stated. I don't blame people for willingly sticking their heads in the sand, though, since Americans by and large are nihilists abused to the point of learned helplessness. It will be up to the rest of the world to drag them, kicking and screaming, into the future.

What I don't understand is what people expect to happen. Sure, working your way from the lower cabins to the top deck of the Titanic is in your material interest, but it doesn't solve the problem of, you know, being on a sinking ship. I suppose it's a symptom of the Don't Look Up philosophy, where we all just sit around and hold hands and accept our fate. However, in the movie the protagonists did all they could to avert disaster, so the audience inevitably feels sympathy for them and admires their commitment to camaraderie and love. But... in our case we - i.e. Americans - didn't even try. We just rolled over and stuck our faces in the trough, devouring the scraps left to us by our masters, thankful for the slop.

Sublimation of Cognitive Dissonance

Take singing lessons, maybe even join the opera. Get really into Dungeons & Dragons. Learn to garden after years of manipulating pixels in Stardew Valley. All of these are hobbies, and in a normal, functioning society they would be healthy habits to cope with the stresses of everyday life and the terrifying mundanities of being a sentient sack of meat.

Problem is, we don't live in a healthy, functioning society. We are citizens of a slaughterhouse parading itself around as a country. It's easy to put lipstick on a pig, especially one bound for the meat grinder where its entrails will seamlessly blend with said rouge in the resulting slurry.

Alas, we are all Stirner's unwilling egoists, caught by the allure of the heated blanket, held hostage by its warm embrace. We seek shelter from the cold, scary world and retreat to the familiar territory we have known and hope to always know. Borne back ceaselessly into the past, we, the benefactors of the infernal machine, are unable to accept entropy's message that although time is a flat circle our place on its circumference is impermanent.

Two Step and Swing

All that remains to be done is to pick your song and dance. Andreas has some tunes and Momodou does, too. Luigi rocking to some others. Jinping and Mojtaba and Ibrahim up to their own grooves.

If it takes two to tango and a choir to carol, then for what is coming we will need all of humanity up off their asses playing musical chairs, because there is one thing I know for certain: the American ballad is played to death, like the jukebox a barfly can't help but molest.