If I were a Conservative my blog would look like this:

Another day spent fighting. It never stops. Everyone knows it’s going down the tubes. The world, that is. Human civilization. The virtues they claim to aspire to – It’s crazy. It’s all damned crazy and it just keeps spinning out of control. We wear t-shirts to oppose rape when we should be hunting people down and castrating them. We complain about over-population when all anybody seems to want out of life is to churn out their own litter and live in the suburbs. Half the country is getting diseases spread by drugs, sex and open wounds, and the other half is getting cancer. We watch life through screens, letting people half-way around the world to the legwork for us when we could be imagining and thinking and exploring for ourselves, or we blast our music as loud as we can in endless loops so we don’t have to hear our brains working. No-one reads anymore, I swear it. I’ve been looking for them, but they aren’t out there. I just see these narcoes standing asleep in lines at shopping centres or post offices or those thrice-damned government places for the forms and the licenses, and they’re just sitting there, waiting for their turn, calculating how long it’s going to take while they complain about how long it’s already taken. It’s downright depressing. Sometimes,

sometimes I have this sort of dream only it isn’t really a dream because I’m awake and aware of it, but it’s just so real even though it isn’t that I have to call it a dream, and in this dream it’s already happened. The end of the world. It’s like all the computers are working and the power’s still on and the people in the city are all there, but they’re just machines going and doing the same stupid stuff every day because they’ve been programmed to, and they’ve been doing it so long they’ve forgotten that it can be any different. And all the live ones, all the ones who can see what’s happened, they’ve gone sort of crazy and feral, like they want nothing more than to pick up a hammer and start swinging it at people to see if it’s just gears and cogs that spill out. And I see them and the robots and all and I think to myself, “I’m the last one on Earth” and in a way it’s true,

not true in the dream but true in real life, because no-one god damn reads anymore. It’s just me and a few misfit types out there who kind of get what I’m driving at, but not all the way there. If they read it’s because they’re trying to get in the book. They want something that makes the world go away, something they can put their five star recommendation on like it’s a drug that takes you on a really good trip, but that’s all. No-one pulls anything out of books and it screws me up, because that’s what books are, really, if you treat them like you should. They’re supposed to make the world so much better, because if you’re reading and you find something you like, that really gets you rolling, that touches you deep in whatever part of you you thought was that sacred space nothing would ever touch or understand, then you want it to get out there. You want it to become a real part of your world, because like it or not this great dead planet is the one we keep getting dragged back to at the end of the story.

What the hell is it that stops you people? Why do you keep going on vacation when you could use the cash to make your home just a little bit more lovable? How come you can only see God around other people, but you can’t stand the thought that you need to find her inside of you when you two are alone?

Christ, it scares me. People acting on their feelings instead of acting to create feelings. Thinking that they’re just one person inside, instead of a million little voices who say ‘I want but I want but I want but I want’ and all wanting conflicting things. They say ‘we want’ and pick one, just because they think that’s sane. You know what you people are doing? You’re staring at screens again. Do some legwork, you bastards.

But I’m not, thank the Universe. You folks do whatever you like. I’m just going to sit here and live my life my way, and I encourage you to live yours your way. The fact that my way is better is completely besides the point.