Ground Bogo

The end of the world as I know it

Just coming back from a bit of a stroll outside. It’s dark and chilly outside so I quickly leap into my room while it’s warm and cozy. This time, however, something was different. Time had stretched for some reason, and the first 15 seconds I spent in the room felt like 15 minutes. And so, I realized how empty the room is, and how dark it is even though I had just turned on the light. My laptop was turned off…wait, my laptop was off. And then, it hit me, the reason behind it all.

The computer screen really is a window to the world. You hear this on the news and see it in ads. You even claim to know and understand it, and maybe you do to some extent, but that extent being far from the full one. It is a hole in your desk that allows you instant access to millions of other people, and to almost all the collective information that humanity possesses right now. You just have to stick your head in. This availability of so many individuals out there is the under-appreciated part that goes under the radar. Because to be honest, we live pretty lonely lives right here amongst us, but we have incorporated this online community into our days without even thinking about it. This thing can be felt if you have the same experience like me of staying in the room 15 minutes by myself with the laptop closed. However, we don’t do that, so we don’t realize our…dependency? No, I don’t like this word; I would say something that makes our lives many times better, but something that we could potentially live without…like our parents, for example. And yet, it’s all there now, and we should at least register it in order to recognize its importance.

Dear Reader,

My name is James, and I am here to make your life miserable. It’s Tuesday, the Ten-Thousand-th of July, and the clocks are striking fifteen. I wake up, go to the bathroom, and look at myself in the mirror. I tell myself what a miserable son-of-a-bitch I am, which is all the fuel and kick I need in order to begin my productive day. It’s more powerful than coffee, and liberates my colon better than the strongest espresso ever made by human or inhuman hands. Speaking of colon, I reach under the sink and pull out a paper bag. I proceed to have my morning glory inside, for no natural resource like that should ever go to waste. Ten minutes later I’m preped and ready to go to work. As I drive off in my car to my clerk job in the post office, the bag of feces in front of your door is already set ablaze. The smell creeps under your front door’s crack, and any minute now you will awake, your nosdrills filled with the sweet scents of my Tuesday pride and joy.

At the same time I’m already parking my car at work in the most non-efficient way, taking up at least two parking spots. You think it’s easy, but it’s truly an art and skill acquired throughout the years. I also fucked your wife last week. As I walk up to the office and pass the coffee room, I spit in the schwartz coffee from the filter machine and put salt in it. I promptly pour myself a cup of nice fresh warm coffee before I perform the ritual. I hang around for 3 more minutes until you come to the coffee room as well, just to see your twisted face when you taste the sweet and salty black medicine. I pass by the toliet and aim at the toilet seat while pissing. I clog the plumbing with toilet paper before I flush. Then comes the pinacle of my day. I start sorting the mail. Your name pops up on one of the letters. I redirect it to La Barra, Uruguay. I don’t think you’ll ever get that letter, which is a shame since it was deffinately important. Sometimes I wonder how much it must suck to be you. I pity you, but such is life, and it goes on. I will be sending your next letter to Kikon in Papua New Guinea. Most probably. At lunchtime I buy all the steaks, and you are forced to eat the leek and carrot soup once agian. I go back to work and steal all the staples from the stapler in your office. I jerk off in the paper glue. The paper glue actually starts to work and be sticky. Partial fail.

My work for the day is done, and we hit the corner bar as always. Order up…you turn around for ten seconds, and when you turn back your glass is empty. Your drink is fucking Diana’s drink and John’s drink. They are all having an orgry in my stomach. Next time when you come out, maybe you’ll learn not to look around so much. One drink, one purpose, fixate and pursue or lose and suffer. Such is life, and you should know it by now. The night is coming to an end, and you get in your car to drive home safely. The cops stop you five meters from the bar. They got an anonymous call from me that you are attempting to drive while intoxicated. You lose your licence for two months. While you are arguing with the authorities, a mysterious stranger in my face slashes your tires and breaks your side mirrors…unseen. Ninja skills or simple timing, you name it. You walk home. Your keyhole is jammed with splinters. You wake up your wife to open the door for you. She wants a divorce. I’m not going to bed alone anymore. I’m sleeping with your car mirrors. Night falls on Manhattan. I smile and fall asleep, fucking fourty virgins in my sleep. Alarm goes off.

My name is James, and I am here to make your life miserable. It’s Wednesday…

Everywhere I turn I keep seeing something alarming growing in the world around me. An army of disillusioned people is slowly making its way into society, creeping like the first stages of cancer. It’s hard to notice these people unless you are one of them. I’m walking down the street, and I see dozens of shadows walking beside me. They aren’t mine, but they might as well be. Empty shells, held down on the sidewalk under the very weight of their disappointment and their quiet reconciliation with reality. The remnants of thousands of birds that used to soar and dream when they were children but whose wings were fiercely torn apart feather by feather by the greyness that surrounds us. People with no purpose, no motivation, no meaning, and no reason.

Everyone has dreams. Not everyone allows themselves to dream. Somewhere in this mysterious fog called life, people start getting lost. They lose interest in trying to get out. They lose purpose in their lives. You wake up, but do you actually have a reason to wake up? Is it Tuesday or Wednesday, and more important, does it matter? Is there something significant that makes your Tuesday different than your Wednesday? You fall asleep. Was your day worth it? If you had actually kept your eyes closed for the past 12 hours, would it be any different? You don’t have to be in a coma to be in a coma. All it takes is but a slip into the pit of apathy, and you’re already there.

So many people today have been infected. Like the molecules in a glass of water, they move back and forth in random motion, no purpose, no goal. What they don’t realise is that they pull others as well. It is very easy to lose reason and become a part of a grand routine if the monotony is already around you. And there is all this incredible potential that lies dormant in the endless grey mass. Nobody cares about these people, but someone ought to. Someone has to stand up and give this army of non-lovers something to love, something to pursue. I do believe one day this will happen, not because I’m optimistic, but simply because it is the logical course of action. It is a very powerful idea, and one day someone will adopt it.

And here’s something to think about, my disillusioned, illusioned, or imaginary readers. There is no need to wait for someone to come up and give purpose to the masses. You, me, we can all make our own purpose in life. And no, I don’t mean some naive scheme where all of us aspire to be something that we never will be. It is as simple as making your Tuesday different than your Wednesday. Even better…find someone that’s worth the effort and make every one of their days special. Then you will truly be alive.