Last Days

by Adam L.G. Nevill

Into her came a sudden invasion of regret, and its attendant hopelessness. Living with the consequences of actions committed before reason and experience had much say in anything felt familiar enough to be tedious.

After millions of years of evolution, we start stupid cults of celebrity and feed the egos of maniacs until they take our money, fuck us in the arse, and then cut our throats.

‘You know, in the airport, coming over, I watched the people around us.’ Kyle shook his head where he lay on the floor, staring at the polystyrene ceiling tiles. ‘So many of them thought they had an audience. They were performing. Because everyone thinks they’re on stage these days. The Show Of Me, mate. Facebook. Twitter. Twitter my arse. Mobile phones? Eh? They’re not for communicating, they’re for broadcasting. Broadcasting The Show Of Me. We are an audience to every shithead with an iPhone. I can’t turn on the telly without some silly bitch with big teeth showing off.’

We seem incapable of being led by any but the monstrous. The malignant narcissist. And there are many willing to take the place of a deposed tyrant, to ape them. And the rest of us, down here, cannot discriminate in the choice of our leaders, even if we have anything resembling a real choice. We cannot lead ourselves rationally or humanely or fairly, so we choose the most unscrupulous and egotistical to lead us. Into one war and one holocaust after another.

I believe the vulpine greed of the corporate world is cut from the very same cloth as the tyrant of history. Different worlds, different means, same intention. Empowerment, enrichment, self-interest, at the expense of all but itself. Their strength is their suppression of conscience.