Did you miss me?
I wish I could say I was off holiday-making on Safe Island (see post #2), but no — I was actually traipsing through the wilds of Reality. I’ve taken some brief field notes. See below.
Reality is a barren nation state located somewhere no one wants to go, inhabited mostly by trolls, Evangelical Christians, redundant pop songs, termites, Mondays, tax forms, and a gigantic Cheeto wearing a badly tailored suit and an American flag pin. The capital of Reality is the city of “Not Fun,” which is surrounded by the traffic-clogged suburbs of “Ugh, Relationships,” “It’s Raining,” “Your Job is Pointless, Yeah?” “The Internet is Down Again,” and “Is This Really All We’ve Got To Look Forward To?”
The rural areas are slightly more habitable, with the state of “Let’s Pretend We Don’t Give a Fuck” ranking the highest in beautiful vistas, pristine wild areas (complete with bears and hobbits and wolves and stuff), and tourism dollars. I met some locals of “Let’s Pretend We Don’t Give a Fuck,” and they are pretty chill, lots of craft breweries and artisan cheese shops and recreational marijuana dispensaries, but once you get near the border of “Let’s Try Not to Pathologize All of Your Weird Quirks” and the smaller state of “Is it Anxiety or Depression or All of the Above?” really, you should turn around — at least before you get to “And Now We’re Hungover Again But Still Have to Go to Work,” because even though it hugs the eastern coast, the beaches are shit. Nothing but broken sand dollars, hypodermic needles, jelly fish, Speedos, and shark attacks.
Pick up a Zagat’s guide to Reality and you’ll see there are plenty of strange hidden gems, quaint neighborhoods like “Look at the Cute Baby,” “Pay Day, Yeah,” “PUPPIES,” “I’ve Got Some Really Swell Friends and Family,” “Finally Got Time to Write,” and “Really Good Music, Yeah.” It’s not all bad, you know. Reality is one of those places that can be staggeringly ugly and endlessly disappointing and heartbreakingly real, but hey…
Reality: It Just Is What It Is.