The Li'l Raskolnikov

"Don't follow me, I beseech you, I have somewhere else to go.... But you go at once and sit with mother. I entreat you to! It's my last request of you. Don't leave her at all; I left her in a state of anxiety, that she is not fit to bear;"

the guilt of carnivores with overdeveloped cerebral cortex signals is currently too much for the wet network to handle but there's new relays in development, a good thing for the maintenance of congealed consciousness, self-reflective flex-spasms, spittle-flecked self-defense, and the need to deflect facts like some kinds of protein taste better than others, just margin enough to deform markets into permanent scar tissue - the sum of carnivore guilt doubles thrice a decade, at pace with processor speed, but it's been there since ego fungaled over id - as quaint as guilt seems in the setting of dostoevsky's russia, it's real enough, contains the universe, god and the devil, and i commiserate

here napoleon is the go-to caricature for cutting edge assholery, but there's a certain base innocence implied when everyone pre-dates the coming desensitization - most of us in the age of information exist under armored leisure suits but folks got character in the K. bridge neighborhood, not just cause they're characters, but accurately drawn, i'll bet - the most outrageous proclamations of the utopian socialists still have the benefit of being untested, they couldn't know any better, cynicism hadn't been earned like an anti-merit badge and even the pale imperialists are downtrodden in historical context - even back then, there was root sickness, but how much the worse now? how much greater the necessity for removal from the real? acceleration, useless information, lumpen proletariat collective guilt, whitewash mandate from an elite reflexively elected, i guess, sort of, if you can call it an electoral system, if you call money free speech and corporations people

it's interesting to delve into some of the more psychologically astute fiction of the time, and feel like it's not so removed from my time, even if i am hopelessly a dude of my time, but not enough of a dude to be content with said time, safely meshed into the winning culture but a loser all the same - still amazes me to think that most adults bring in over thirty Gs a year in this geographically blessed culture, that's well below normal, but i can't imagine making that amount - and it amazes me so many of them can describe their wages and salaries in matter-of-fact figures without embarrassment, as if the numbers don't divide, can't cut - well, if you're cut out of the deal and subsist on charity, you're not supposed to know or care what thirty thousand dollars feels like, or that it's cheap, but that's gauche

maybe i'll get crucified for no good reason in my jesus year, rather than creep into the middle class - i never took that community college course in selling out for a stipend cause it seemed so boring and i was immersed in inertia - if i don't get crucified, i'll contrive a crucifixion to a coma theme in a compound primed to burn as the olympic torch of nihilism