the glossy faced babies of capital move once again. this time: the conservative parties are gonna win, and they’re sure of it: and have you heard lately it’s cool to be conservative? wear your paranoia on a sleeve, weaponize your fear. hollow out your own heart to be at the center of the room. a nation of girls and boys (only) standing on opposite corners of the room from each other, dreaming of something else. eventually the neo-con women will get tattoos and stay just as racist, and the men with imagined jawlines and baby fat cheeks will finally have a picture of what they’ve always desired staring at them from across carpet pushed flat by rented dress shoes that have bowling soles. never grow up, never change: stay afraid if you can.

for a few short weeks in 2025 certain corners of the world were suddenly burdened by the patriotic excesses of american standards: a massive influx of Tik Tok elopers and brainrotted gen m/x/z/y/a/b lettered colloquial filtered into the excesses of chinese video making apps. I saw comments from content creators bemoaning the facts that they had never even considered a person anywhere in another country might read american comics, or listen to american music. do you like american music? i love, american music. don’t you like american music: baby, (we have been told ‘only one baby per article’ by an editor)

see; I can do all of that stuff too. for a those brief weeks I started to think stupid adolescent thoughts: other people in other countries got to see the daily drain americans are constantly exposed to and that most of us are somewhere below the lowest tier of the hierarchy of needs of just wanting to get to go to work and not Worry about It. some americans have two three or twelve jobs and can’t afford an ambulance. some of us live in cities that no ambulance has ran in since the debut of the television channel “turner classic movies”

we’re in a time where the internet voice is going to reign supreme: little words and phrases dug deep and wielded and steered and turned on each other to make a case or a point or a living. the conservative sweat-boys are laughing it up, indulging in excesses of 1980’s cocaine and realizing that with all the provenance of middle-managers who are middle-realizing that nobody was stopping them from saying the slur in the first place, only their own heart and their own fear. well, a conservative unburndened by fear often turns into a monster or a serial killer.

these glossy faced babies want room service, an ironed shirt, and a nice tv to look at: or none at all, maybe. down in the mountain towns and resorts (where American culture, capitalized, is made) the white socks of the white-collars are rolled and arranged in hotel rooms lit only by natural lighting. take a look everybody: the new host is Modern like Architecture, and it’s an architecture of skin, body, hair, lighting, and behavior. sleek and stylish with hard edges that depict a frame sturdy enough to stand up to the outside world. the queer and color bodies are soft edges and have no more place in the world of low polygons and yearning nostalgia. gen z doesn’t get to have a nostalgia, and gen a won’t have anything to hold onto that isnt a Statement about What Came Before. we’re passed signposts and into the territory of front pages: reality is really going to come down to what a handful of newspapers left have to say about the world. keep moving. get in line.

take lots and lots of photos of this time. get as many friends faces in them as you can. what isn’t there tomorrow will be pre-rendered and dropped in a cutscene with the rendering power of whatever the next xbox is later. striving conspiracy theories dictate that revanchist accelerationists want to end democracy: boy, it’s not so much that they want to end democracy as it is they want a nation of babies with daddy issues to finally have a final masculine boss to tell them what to do. the nation of child-haters (they shit, they piss, they cry, they want to watch cartoons i don’t understand) wants with one final thought to render the country nothing more then incompetent children: look up to me, wont you?

it’s actually true that the conservative is afraid of the left wing, but it’s none of the statements about gender or ideology or economy or building a world where people love and kiss each other and share flowers in the street and have four or seven days off. they wont have kids, at least, not ones capable of turning out in the exact same way they didn’t. they hate their parents, we hate them, and just as assuredly as a clock is broke twice a day we will eventually change a more conservative generation for a more progressive one somewhere down the line.

my new apartment might be the size of a Cybertruck, my new apartment will be the size of a Subaru Impreza, my new apartment will kick and scream and shit and piss until i put it to bed every night and it gets a government mandated corporate stipend of childcare bux, delivered only (and foremost,) through the nationwide-is-on-your-side blockchain. my new apartment will change color when the streamer lights tell me it’s okay to fuck someone else or myself. my new apartment is a ticket to heaven, a ticket to working life, inner walls that can finally, finally give meaning to who i am.

who’s your daddy? who’s mine? well, he knew how to shoot and ride a horse and he died wishing he got to draw more women with big tits, snatched waists, and even bigger swords. for all of the culture war whinging about who’s heavier, stockier, thicker, who is a refrigerator and gets to be one and who’s door can I open and store my groceries in, the world and the view of masculinity never seems to fail more then it will be tomorrow. today our pissant in chief crowned a new type of dei for the transportation board: an opposite meritocracy where we solve employment by handing stupid white people jobs. this has been the politcal base of the conservative party for forty years.

and here comes the party: while the rest of the united states searches for answers as to who why and how, the consolidated political base of the country does what they do best, which is get together in secluded hotel rooms and lavish private bars to get copiously intoxicated and finally swap bodies with each other in a shunting ritual of fluids, excess and political violence. covers of the new yorker depict the conservative party crowd as perpetually acid-faced sweaty teenagers, and yet: even with his leathery skin and the kind of gurgling, bloviating throat that makes him sound like an encino man himself unfrozen and let loose on capital hill, RFK jr and the others can only be perpetually immature men dressed up in daddies oxfords.