It may be blasphemous, at least since Israel supports the spying infrastructure in India—the popular pegasys system—to say anything that's not aligned with the incumbents, but I feel this isn't the way to go; both Israel and Hamas will be causing the deaths of innocent civilians, and I don't care about sides. Just like I said Putin was wrong, these guys are too. I feel more helpless and depressed.
It's probably just me, an up-and-coming loser adrift in this meaningless haze, or maybe it's because depression lifts the curtains and exposes the ulcers and festering boils under the imitation-brand t-shirt that society wears. The days and nights whirl into a dull, repetitive routine that doesn't inspire any creativity, but I persist in bringing pen and paint to paper. I do that because time is running out; it's this moment, and that's all I have—an ephemera that's constantly spooled into the past before I know it.
And soon the entire present will be spooled into the past, and I'll be closing my eyes. It's inevitable, and that's why I need to keep looking for the cracks through which the Tyndall rays stream through the haze in the early morning when the angle the sun subtends allows for this magic. At least I'm still breathing. I console myself; it could be far worse if I allowed people's bullshit to get any closer than it has. This self-imposed incarceration is what has kept me alive.
Some people on LinkedIn misunderstand me as an impolite snob who rams in as a contrarian when everyone else is going giddy with emoticons. They don't know how uncomfortable this persona is and how unfortunate it is that they might not get anything out of my efforts. It's hard to reason with the crowd. I'm outnumbered. These are overconfident people who don't want to hear from experience unless it's obligatory or part of a paid course that sends them a paper they can frame on the wall. And even with all the trappings of civilization on the shimmering glossy patina of social media, it's still a tribal society of rabid apes barely past its infancy in evolutionary terms and well steeped in the prevailing superstitious voodoo and fiction they've been indoctrinated into, unwillingly at first and then as complicit partners in crime.
Plus, they're right—those that know have been bad communicators, hiding what is straightforward in the deep wooded impenetrable jargon land. It's a pity it has to be this way, but when I look at my situation, it makes me realize that if this is how science has to struggle for a foothold, it's because the scientists are doing a pretty good job of making it slippery for popularizers by creating an alien language that's hard to translate into colloquial everyday plainspeak. And thus, unless the bubbles are pricked when they're sitting on them, most keep sailing drunk with ignorance, which feels good. The main problem is that the bubbles will burst in their lifetime, and they won't remember the ugly, smelly, disgusting cynics that tried to warn them before.
