I see the world that could be, some day far off in the future, that benefits from my writing. From my art. From my trash. From my every effort. I can see the change I could bring about in people’s hearts if I keep it up.
But now I don’t want to.
I used to not draw or write for a lot of reasons. Laziness. Doubt.
Now I don’t do that shit very often because I hate the world, and I don’t think people deserve my stories. Like that’s the only revenge I can have against a world that is careening out of control.
Trayvon Martin’s killer was let free? Alright then, I guess history will never get my JRPG about a humping robot.
Michael Brown was executed by racist police who attack peaceful protesters? You can forget about reading my zombie apocalypse story about an egyptian teenager, eight-year old girl and middle-aged british hitman.
People keep going to PAX, even though it’s a date-rapist convention? Say goodbye to all of the porn I was going to draw.
This is my protest. This is my middle finger to a world infested with psychotic masters and apathetic servants. I am powerless to stop the rampant stupidity and evil of my species, but I can at least deny the world fiction it could seriously use some day.
It no longer matters to me that the world will not notice. You can’t miss something you never had. But I have it. And only I will have it. And that a species as corrupt and selfish as this will never have any of it is the sweetest-tasting revenge.
So go ahead and let Net Neutrality die. Let Scotland remain under the thumb of a dusty monarch. Let ISIS continue chopping off people’s heads. Continue to let minorities be exterminated. By all means, maintain the status quo of treating women like an invasive species, and keep ignoring trans and asexual people. Poison the atmosphere, destroy the environment and make a quick buck.
It will upset me much less, now that I know who the real losers are.