Subtitle: What The Ancients Forgot In Their Writing Of The Dystopian Future We Live In Now.
Since we are in this place dear worst-reader, this dystopia place so well designed and executed (but by whom), let’s have a moment or thrice to worst-write about fear, i.e., that which rules (us). I’m not one to say I fear nothing. I am afeared aplenty. Snakes, for example. I can’t stand them. Small and tight spaces is something else I can’t stand (platzangst). And then there’s my fear of height. Actually I don’t really suffer from a fear of heights. Instead I have a fear of distance. Specifically, I fear distance between my feet and the ground–and, in some cases, I fear the distance between smart people and stupid people. (But that’s all another post.) And then there’s one last fear I shall not forget. Perhaps this is the most important fear of them all. That’s right, dear worst-reader, I fear The Female. Better put, I fear the wrath of woman scorned. Yea, baby. Now that’s something to run away from–unless, of course, you’re a fan of comb-overs. And while on the topic of fear (and comb-overs), have a look at this to begin the process of dealing with the dystopia you’ve been putting-up:
Nationally, Clinton picked up 54 percent of women voters compared with Trump’s mere 42 percent. But Trump outperformed Clinton among white women, winning 53 percent of voters in that demographic. Drilling down further, he beat Clinton among white women without college degrees by 27 points. In the three states that decided the election — Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and Michigan — that margin was enough to send Trump to the White House.1
The best way I’ve always found to describe fear, other than worst-writing about my beloved #americant and/or free-to-be-stupid people, is to worst-write about those who are so much better than worst-moi at doing it, e.g.: George Orwell and his wonderfully appropriate novel Nineteen Eightyfour. Specifically, understanding fear is best done by considering the fear of Winston Smith. As the story goes, it is revealed, after Winston meets a girl, that he is afraid of rats. Now, obviously, in the real world, in a world of man-rule (and not patriarchy miss-rule2), no man would freak out in front of a fresh lover when a rat pokes its head of a hole in her wall3. In fact, to prove his worthiness and to get another good fcuk out of her, a real man would kill that fcuking rat toot-suite and immediately after washing his hands (of the mess), do the nasty-deed again and thereby impose upon his new lover his obsession with other useful orifices. But enough about worst-writer’s fantasies.
Orwell had to offer up something in his story to show how fear is used to control the automatons that enable the system. I guess rats were (are) a good place to start. What’s missing in the story, though, is the automatons. Lucky for us, dear worst-reader, we live in times where we don’t have to look any further to find the automatons that have caused our dystopia. They are among us, we among them. And so. The necessity of the state to inflict fear as a means of control has kinda shifted in the last few decades. Reason? Fear is now manifested in our inability to look under the comb-overs that rule us. And not just President Stupid’s comb-over. The reality is, the rat in the story means nothing. Winston’s face being eaten by that rat also means nothing. And another thing that means nothing is the love that Winston betrays–as though Orwell gives a hoot about love. Indeed. What Orwell is dealing with is how the world (and those in it) so willingly allow themselves to be ruled by what’s under their comb-overs.
But I’m almost off subject. This is supposed to be yet another worst-post about worst-writer’s fear(s). And you know what motivated that fear? The women in the pic above that voted for president comb-over and the pic of the spider. Which one afears me more? And keep this in mind. Of all of the things I fear, one of them will NEVER be the spider. The reason for that is because I know the people that have enabled, facilitated our dystopia. You know them, too, dear worst-reader. Just take a moment. Take a deep breath. Feel the world clog up the lungs of your mind. Take a deep look at the spiders and snakes and distances (between us) that cause all the fear. And say with me: I am not afraid of spiders. I am only afraid of what that spider looks like, what it carries on its back, the texture that makes it what it is. It reminds so much of the mind-set of a woman scorned, of president stupid and of what’s underneath that which should be covered–forevermore.
All hail THE COMB-OVER.
PS While I’m on yet another rant about blaming the women-folk for electing president stupid, the third pic above I thought would be appropriate. Maybe it’s not. Whatever.
- https://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2017/1/20/14061660/women-march-washington-vote-trump ↩︎
- Pun intended ↩︎
- Is there another pun here? ↩︎