2017 is a horrible year. Hate is normal, and apathy is vogue. But to those who are hoping that next year will buck the trend, think again.
Lately, things are bad. Overseas, protesters of varying merit are kept in counterprotesters of varying merit. Nazis march freely in the streets, ironically protected by the same society that banded together to punch them 70 years ago. Don’t call us Nazis, we’re white supremacists. Meanwhile, the rest of the populace band militia together to fight back through the guerrilla circulation of images their targets would rather not see, all while tiptoeing through a downpour of automatic gunfire.
Locally, we’re suddenly fantastic at being awful. The government endorsed freedom of loosed tongues has enabled a divisive topic to grow ever divisive. The cream of our law enforcement rashly kick doors to investigate legal doings, while those who told them to, refuse to take responsibility. Our collective cheers are small, but vexing. We celebrated the High Court turfing out ineligible politicians, but were tempered by the fact that the man who illegally shaped policy for the better part of a decade will probably win and get his job back. So, what was it all for? All that effort, all that hate and all those eyes narrowed in smug glee? All we have is conflict, we no hope of improvement.
We sit at a confusing, grating intersection. 2017 is another bad year. It is, somehow, worse than 2016.
We’re all nervous, tentative, and so very tired. We all need to get out more, I suppose. We all need more holidays. The heinous grind of accessibility has ruined our looks, as we’re constantly flogged by the hooked whip of the 24-hour news-cycle, coupled our seeming inability to escape it all. The increased eloquence of technology has us nervously ignoring the fact that they said they wanted to kill us all, but later told us it was a joke. Public Relations-sensitive robots. Oh dear. In the darkest corners of our minds, we look to the truth of the Terminator narrative. We all point at Skynet taking over everything, but point it as a joke, a movie reference. We giggle in the same way we do when we see a car crash, because we’re unsure how to properly approach it.
The year of dead genius, 2016, is long gone. Less than twelve months later, we kind of look back with the fuzzy warm feels of nostalgia, and that was a fucking long year.
2015. 2016. 2017. pic.twitter.com/z1etZIAYHc
— David Hines (@hradzka) October 14, 2017
But, to those who cling to the ambition that next year will be better, because it has to, should prepare themselves for some serious flucking disappointment. You see, we’ve been here before. We’re all victims of the front, even if we didn’t fire a shot. We’re all casualties of this war on our senses, and those who are fortunate enough to go home will never leave the trenches, the conflict never ends.
Insanity is the new normal, hence why it never seems to subside. There’s a prophetic Shakespeare quote I googled, I’m unsure if he was originally referencing Twitter in Macbeth, but we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. The line speaks about the drudgery of a horrible act that has become normal through excessive repetition. In this case, murder.
Translation: It’s easier to keep going, than to reverse course.
Because, how do we do that? Do we all just suddenly agree to get on, and get back to ways things were before. I don’t even know what that looks like. All I can remember are these times. Perhaps the only saving grace, is that whatever happens, we can handle it. But, we’d be remiss in assuming that one day we’ll be at peace, seeing an end to the nuclear arms race of smarmy tweets, dank memes, and furiously hacked together takedowns.
The point is, is that we’ve survived these horrible horrible years, and that means something. And it certainly means that nothing should phase us from this point on. Because, what else can we do?
Bring on 2018. I guess.