The Dystopian Highway

What do I know about Cancer?

Well, my Mum has it, my Aunty was killed by it in less than two weeks, and I watched my Nan turn into a vegetable as Cancer ate her brain. I don’t think there’s a single person I know who hasn’t had some kind of friend or family member invaded by it. ‘Invaded’, is that the right word? I think so.

The supposition is that you get Cancer, then you get ill, and/or die. Cancer wasn’t there when you started out, right? It’s an outsider with no redeeming features or purposes. It is an evil Biblical plague type thing which doesn’t stop at the moneylenders but keeps on going until it rips through every cell that can bear its load until, well, the end of the host. Or, you survive thanks to expensive medications and chance. Cancer loads the bases however you want to think. It plays to win and it doesn’t care what course the battle takes on the way.

But what are Humans if we are not the very disease that kills us? Everyone needs a foe. We seek to kill Cancer, which seeks to kill us, but I’d argue we are the beast. We ourselves are a Cancer. And we have invaded the earth.

“Today we have to envisage the menacing possibility of an outbreak of atomic war between Soviet Russia and America. It can only be avoided if the two powers decide to renounce atomic arms. How has this situation arisen? In an atomic war there would be neither conqueror nor vanquished. During such a bombardment both sides would suffer the same fate. A continuous destruction would take place and no armistice or peace proposals could bring it to an end. He who uses atomic weapons becomes subject to the fate of the bee, namely, when it stings it will perish inevitably, for having made use of its sting.” – Albert Schweitzer, 1958

“Trump asked three times in a meeting why the USA couldn’t use nuclear weapons if he became President.” – The Daily Telegraph, August 3rd, 2016.

The problem of our own maniac destructiveness hasn’t gotten any better as the grim years have whimpered on by. One lunatic is all it takes, and there are enough of us to make it statistically nailed on that one of us (like Trump) gets his finger on the button.

 

See the problem? Smell the fear? WE are insidious and we have an inherent desire to destroy, maim, to find someone to fear, then spend years figuring out how to grind them into shark chum. We live in our tumorous cities, stretched out into the wild green spaces of the Earth, destroying everything that should really be there. Blotting out the daylight with our smog, concreting any available space and covering it with shitty corporate sculptures and token sick-looking trees.

And out in the fields isn’t much better. Poisons choke the wildlife – I haven’t seen a hedgehog or a Thrush for ten years – and the sun burns through our dystopian atmosphere, hotting up the ice. Hot ice is no use to anyone, it only spills where it shouldn’t. We’ll find that out soon enough. Like we’ll find out how to eat insects on a regular basis and bury our neighbours out of sight of the roaming gangs of secret police.

I won’t rage about Trump, or the Climate Change deniers, or the warmongers and the Capitalist scumbags, or the bastards who see power as something external to themselves. But I make no apology for hating us all, including myself. We are the worst thing to happen to the Earth since the Yukon meteor strike. There’ll be an emoji somewhere that’ll sum up in crass pixels exactly how I feel. Fucking awful.

Don’t ring me for answers, or to ask questions. I’m searching for somewhere to go, but there isn’t a hole big enough to hold me and all my fears. Instead I am busily here mutating, invading, praying for a cure.

 

 

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