Our rapidly aging boomer landlord has a beutiful old home that getes worse everytime he fixes something. He has the aethetics of a slum lord. As such, we’ve gone with open cabinet concept, removing the doors as the frames and hinges crack off. It pairs well with our broken microwave. I strongly suspect he is of the “No no, security deposit is the name of the thirteenth month of the lease, when you don’t live here” school of thought. It’s still an awesome place, but details can really sneak up and shit on your foot then smile at you like “I dare you to do anything you forty-year-old who knows they ain’t gonna do shit but hurt they’re hand and some drywall”. MF Imps.

I updated Sofa Flower Moon this week. Random, nineteen hour playlists at the push of a button.

Have a happy weekend, enjoy the sounds of the birds while not begrudging them they’re flight.

—

Maybe we should just kill all of the boomers. Just kill one boomer per zip code per day. There are seventy-three million boomers left and forty-two thousand zip codes. We can do it in 5 years. 

It seems like it’s that or the planet dies. They seem to be the methane. All the policy impossibilities. The selfishness and personal responsibility. 

They seem like cynical old dreamers with guns and money who still treat us like children that owe them something. But when we were forced out into the world and away from home to find enough stability to sleep in the same room for two consecutive years, they adopted these violent new kids who are bleeding our inheritance dry with security and medical grifts. 

Most of us won’t inherit anything but debt after these adopted corporate siblings are done. We spent a lifetime being brow-beaten for theoretically one day maybe getting out of debt when we lose someone we love and inherit some life changing amount of money. Wanting that made us assholes, so they hired new kids who tell them what they want to hear. I suppose it’s fortunate that there’s always more banks to adopt as wise old ancestors to whom one owes karmic and material debt.

Maybe we take what money they have left, and send the boomers to perform a giant cleansing ritual. We send them by train to fill up Las Vegas and have an orgy until they mostly die of COVID, drugs and strokes. When it’s all done, the beurau of prisons can sweep through food stained uniforms, flame throwers and pistols to clear the evidence.

We can give the boomers back their pay-phones, living rooms, decency, cocaine and all the credit they can take on. They will see it as a vacation. We will live with the burden of what it really is.

But it’ll never work, even if it is they’re fault. It’ll just make a mess, and they’re insufferable when they’re meek. They’ll just fake cry like a toddler until we let them live and they go back to how it is now. The point of the fantasy is for me. It is the myth-making that the boomers are coherant enough to be culpable, and to have enough agency to be punished and through that punishment absolve us. They lack the spirtual essence required for sacrifice.

Shit is just fucked and I participated too. Fuck me. There is joy in eliminating easy answers.

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