Dystopia by the Sea

“A Cyclopean image is a single mental image of a scene created by the brain by combining two images from the two eyes.” Sounds kinky. Do you mean I can see two different points of view and end up with just one linear vision? Helps when you’re in the center of an Eiffel Tower situation (spit roast?) but not so much with society at large. There’s always more than two forms of visual stimuli assaulting my eyes at any given moment, more things, more choices. How can I narrow down my pathway to the wonders of life when the crossroads keep colliding and obstructing? Sounds like a white guy’s problem. But I like the word cyclopean, it makes me sound like I’m well-rounded, sympathetic to everyone else, one of those sainted types everyone gives a positive quote about after they leave their brain matter all over the F Train. Yeah, I hear you, I feel your challenges.

Dystopia, whilst we’re swimming with big words, came from Utopia, the “ideal,” made up of “topia” meaning “place,” and “u” meaning “no” as translated in Greek, as told to me by some chick named Webster who seems to have all the answers and then some. So, by its very meaning, Utopia is kind of a catch-22, unreal, a figment, a unicorn named Waldo. No one throws around the word Utopia much anymore. It’s not because people of all generations aren’t high as fuck on their own agendas, it’s just that the Utopia of my youth no longer exists in the popular subconscious, it’s a relic of yesteryear, a long-lost dream of excess for its own sake, laughed at by those whose main cause in life is social justice for all, no matter who’s sucking and who’s blowing. Makes me wonder why if so many oppose the incoming president so much (he’s leading me toward the dystopian theme of this passage) why he’s there in the first place. He’s the ultimate gold-plated symbol of 1980’s utopian egoism yet he still has his devotees. Many of those who oppose him are on the more sensitive side of practical sensibility, as carried on and on and on again during the obscenely self-congratulatory pay-to-play Golden Globe Awards last night, where Meryl Streep supposedly tore the president-elect a new asshole without actually mentioning his name. Of course I’m getting this intel from news snippets as I would never actually sit through the Golden Globe Awards unless Pia Zadora was nominated for best newcomer. So the snowflake half-marathon revolution will continue as the country continues to go to shit for anyone who doesn’t have discretionary funds (how is this different from the last hundred years again?) and this dystopian society everyone already lives in just creeps on and on and on. The sky already fell, folks. Stay in your lane and try to achieve some personal best without worrying about how much the government is fucking you over.

Saturday it snowed all day. I took the opportunity to drag a friend through Central Park to take some winter wonderland pics for the Gram. For a few fleeting moments I was in a bit of bliss experiencing the sheer unspoiled landscape of the park. Everyone around us seemed to be feeling the same thing, like one big playground of regression therapy. Took me back to toboggan rides and ice skating in the park when I was a kid. I stuck my tongue out to taste the untarnished snow landing casually into my mouth and felt a sort of momentary kinship with my city, just as I was about to start in on all that’s wrong with it. I enjoyed the snow and we headed back down 7th Avenue in a yellow cab (Uber wanted $50) to the West Village where in Starbucks I got the eye from a handsome stranger and worked a bulky L.L. Bean sweater to the best of my ability. Winter isn’t so bad, my feet are warm and my rosy Irish skin stirs in peaches-n-cream juuuuuust right.

But a weekend in Miami Beach wouldn’t kill me.

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