I was going to write something today but I was too busy YELLING ON FACEBOOK.
I’m not kidding about Revolutionary Brocialism, guys (click the link then click all those links, and two hours later you will be indoctrinated). I didn’t turn off my brain during the election season (FULL COMMUNISM, BABY) and I’m not going to now. I hate to say I told you so, but oh wait I don’t hate it. I love it. I fucking revel in it. Here is my victory dance and our reward is living in the dystopian present.
If your activism takes place under a capitalist framework, the end result is your support of the existing capitalist system, period. I will discuss topics like identity politics with left-thinkers. Call it socialist, communist, or whatever rad label you want to stick on it. It’s fine as long as you consider yourself left of whatever this milquetoast right-wing oligarchy calls itself today (Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, Green, Shailene Woodley).
If you want to discuss activism under a Left worldview we can talk all day. You can tell me how wrong I am and I will concede, yes, I am often a jackass. I’m not some fucking Tankie who thinks Stalin had a lot of great ideas. At the end of the day, I am a reasonable guy who wants workers to have control of their destiny, and we’re so many light years away from that concept in America I might as well be talking about Eric Roberts’s chances at finally bagging that Academy Award he missed out on thirty years ago.
If, however, IF you want to come at me with some Lean In Pepsi commercial shit I will burn hot with the colliding rage of a million star systems then I will post a missive about as threatening and hilarious as a kitten batting at a moth, because we all know I am that guy. I will probably quit Facebook for an increasingly diminishing amount of time (it pretty much halves every time, historically – three months, six weeks, three weeks, ten days, four days, two days, a day, twelve hours, six hours, three hours, you can do the math here but I want you to know this has actually happened I am not kidding) then come back all apologetic until I do it again in three months.
When Glorious Leader was elected, I vowed to use my talents to fight the good fight, and the only void-given talent I have is being the biggest fucking dickhead on this side of the Internets. It would be a crime to deny the world my perspective, and I think history will look favorably on me.
That said, I apologize in advance for what will inevitably result in my alienation from almost everyone who gazes upon my screeds. My old friend and spiritual adviser, Scott, once told me 90% of the population would never get me, but I have my 10% solidly pegged down. I’m fine with those stats. If you find yourself in the tenth, I love you. Everyone else can go get fucked. This is the Talbot Way. There’s almost eight billion people on the planet. I have an audience somewhere.
Here’s a photo because photos increase traffic up to 300%.
Once again, I get nothing from this site but a little more in debt and paid in the brain (which really doesn’t happen much anymore). I taste dirt and if you want to see my actual work that wasn’t hacked out under the duress of general life terrors maybe click on this story about a trip with my kids.
It’s not fair for me to call your beliefs garbage then ask you to view mine with a kind heart, but that’s also the Talbot Way. I can dish it out, but I can’t take it. Maybe I just need the love only Fully Automated Luxury Gay Space Communism can offer, but we have to get there first, and step one is probably starting organizations and learning how to use a firearm, lefties.
For what it’s worth, I drink Pepsi all the time. I think we could have socialist Pepsi. Socialist Shailene Woodley. Socialist Avengers films. Socialist Mumford & Sons. Whatever pleases you will be in the holodeck, and it doesn’t have to make someone a buck.
It’s ironic to use the word sell when I’m trying to sell you Star Trek in the name of Space Communism. Everything’s a transaction, really. We aren’t that far removed from our ancestors in the tide pools. We could be a better thing, though. Maybe I’m the actual idealist, the angriest dreamer. Maybe all I know is, “I’m an asshole because I love you, world.”
I see what we could be, and I will never stop screaming about it until next time I quit the Internet for ninety minutes.
I’ll be back.