Welcome to the shallow end of the gene pool, where institutions creak, experts preen, and common sense has been labeled extremist. This is the domain of credentialed clowns, procedural necromancers, and moral toddlers in charge of fire exits.
Here I document the slow-motion implosion of governance, education, media, and culture — not with outrage, but with the grim satisfaction of someone who saw it coming and packed snacks. No reform fantasies. No hand-wringing. Just a front-row seat to the theater of the absurd, with the occasional sharp object thrown from the balcony.
A darkly amused chronicle of collapse in slow motion. While the world obsessed over clickbait and dopamine hits, the scaffolding of normalcy quietly gave way. This is a dispatch for the aware, the exiled, and the half-mad—those still wondering if they’re the crazy ones for noticing that it all seems... over.
I once guarded a Saudi prince who lived in the largest suite of the hotel—and still never left it for months. A man atop the world, imprisoned in his own luxury. That was when I realized: wealth doesn’t liberate, it embalms. Simplicity, not opulence, keeps the fire alive. How Rocky are you?
Paris, 1999: the eve of a grand turning. We expected the Millennium to either crown us with marvels or crush us with apocalypse. The Matrix arrived like a prophecy in leather and green code. But the end didn’t come with a bang; it came with a soft, persistent hum, dissolving certainty pixel by pixel.
Idiots are everywhere—drunk in Vienna, armed in Africa, or suited in Brussels. They topple revolutions, mismanage empires, and burn down civilizations, dragging the rest of us with them. This essay charts a path through the wreckage: lessons from travel, history, and survivalism. Not paranoia, not prepping theater—just clarity, stealth, and the refusal to be an Idiot.
History isn’t written by the winners; it’s photocopied by the idiots who outlast them. Our world rewards smooth talk over substance, empty confidence over competence, and blind ambition over vision. The result: institutions led by people who couldn’t organize a broom closet, yet somehow dictate the fate of millions.
No monster ever needed fangs to dominate. Ours smiles, soothes, and promises us freedom—provided we stay inside its invisible lines. We whisper about escape, then hurry back to the warmth of the cage. The beast doesn’t punish rebellion. It erases the memory of it, until all that remains is silence.
From birth, we’re trained to trust our senses — and then, slowly, to abandon them. Machines mediate reality, experts interpret it, and narratives decide what we’re allowed to know. In a high-trust society, asking questions is treated like heresy. But when answers turn evasive or idiotic, scepticism isn’t cynicism. It’s self-preservation.
Like Jeremy Renner peeling off his bomb suit, we’re facing a world wired to explode. Decades of denial, magical thinking, and political theatre have brought us here. We can’t fix the storm, can’t vote it away, can’t inspire the sleepwalkers. All that’s left is to study the wind, accept the blast, and grin through the debris.
Smart people imagine themselves immune to deception, yet vanity is the soft underbelly every scammer aims for. My friend’s collapse into an absurd con only confirmed the deeper truth: most humans crave guidance, a few profit from the craving, and only a stubborn minority refuse the script. Sagehood isn’t granted—it’s chosen daily.
We laugh at Andersen’s emperor, yet the same farce plays out on a planetary scale. Systems set impossible goals, individuals pretend to meet them, and everyone nods along to preserve the illusion. China’s numbers, Western markets, Soviet tragedies—it’s always the same play. Nobody moves first. And history never punishes the liars—only the believers.
Every empire is built on a beautiful lie. Ponzi had his postage stamps; Aramco has its oil fields. The con changes shape, not substance. We call it business, progress, valuation — anything but belief. But the moment the music stops, all that’s left is silence and the faint smell of burned confidence.