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.
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.
Free trade, we’re told, is the gentle glue holding civilization together. In practice, it’s a velvet handshake masking an iron hook. One side externalizes misery; the other externalizes guilt. COVID didn’t break the arrangement — it merely tore off the decorative ribbon and showed the machinery of parasitism humming underneath.
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.