Story i got some bad ideas in my head

[penedecaballo22]

I quickly went down the subway stairs as if a car was waiting for me, when we, the users, are the ones who always wait. I walked the station to the end, perhaps because of the naive hope of reaching the train that had not yet arrived before, or perhaps because of the empirical wisdom, the result of experience, of knowing that there is more space in the last cars.

There, in a corner of the station, sheltered only by scraps of rags that were once clothes, showing her toothless smile and her dirty, tangled hair, was a woman begging. One more human being thrown as a bag of waste to be devoured by the anonymous city and become part of the inhuman anonymity of the urban totality. If even God ignores his pain, why would we do something different, why would we offer him help: perhaps out of empathy, but the real distance that separates us from that human being, from that waste from the city, was enlarged, increased by a virtual distance : tablets, cell phones, neon signs and other technological artifacts that seduce our attention towards ourselves or towards anything else. The subway arrived and fulfilled its moral and real duty: to transport me away from that human being who, like a mirror of possibilities, threw me the proximity of misery.

Discarding humans from the system is the sacrifice that the market God demands to maintain the well-being of the majority, it is his ration of blood that the capitalist vampire requires to endow us with an unsustainable well-being in another way: our clothes and other goods need slave labor and social injustice. We are silent accomplices of poverty, we are the ones who finance it and then, hypocritically, we wash away our guilt by giving alms to an evicted person. Nobody ever helps. It's not possible. Not in the current system because we are born defeated and trying to help only makes us hypocrites.

I discover nothing with my words. Nothing will change with my words. Nothing will get better either.

I have, yes, the secret hope of not ending up in poverty, not because I believe in justice, in meritocracy or in the existence of any kind of sacrifice-reward order (I witnessed too many social and non-social injustices to believe in the existence of any order), I only have that rare stubbornness that exists in the human spirit but instead of being inclined towards a God, towards a vocation or towards another form of love, it is anchored in life, in existence, in my own selfish welfare.

 

[theboy]

Good story
To add, I think about how we are a society of observers. No one does anything. Street fights, street robberies, wars, are only recorded as they are oberserved by people. Nobody does absolutely nothing.

 

[locked*n*loaded]

Street fights, street robberies, wars, are only recorded as they are oberserved by people. Nobody does absolutely nothing.

What about the countless hundreds of billions of dollars in money and arms and supplies the US and many other countries are contributing to Ukraine in the fight against Russia? That's doing something.

 

[Cerulea]

I quickly went down the subway stairs as if a car was waiting for me, when we, the users, are the ones who always wait. I walked the station to the end, perhaps because of the naive hope of reaching the train that had not yet arrived before, or perhaps because of the empirical wisdom, the result of experience, of knowing that there is more space in the last cars.

There, in a corner of the station, sheltered only by scraps of rags that were once clothes, showing her toothless smile and her dirty, tangled hair, was a woman begging. One more human being thrown as a bag of waste to be devoured by the anonymous city and become part of the inhuman anonymity of the urban totality. If even God ignores his pain, why would we do something different, why would we offer him help: perhaps out of empathy, but the real distance that separates us from that human being, from that waste from the city, was enlarged, increased by a virtual distance : tablets, cell phones, neon signs and other technological artifacts that seduce our attention towards ourselves or towards anything else. The subway arrived and fulfilled its moral and real duty: to transport me away from that human being who, like a mirror of possibilities, threw me the proximity of misery.

Discarding humans from the system is the sacrifice that the market God demands to maintain the well-being of the majority, it is his ration of blood that the capitalist vampire requires to endow us with an unsustainable well-being in another way: our clothes and other goods need slave labor and social injustice. We are silent accomplices of poverty, we are the ones who finance it and then, hypocritically, we wash away our guilt by giving alms to an evicted person. Nobody ever helps. It's not possible. Not in the current system because we are born defeated and trying to help only makes us hypocrites.

I discover nothing with my words. Nothing will change with my words. Nothing will get better either.

I have, yes, the secret hope of not ending up in poverty, not because I believe in justice, in meritocracy or in the existence of any kind of sacrifice-reward order (I witnessed too many social and non-social injustices to believe in the existence of any order), I only have that rare stubbornness that exists in the human spirit but instead of being inclined towards a God, towards a vocation or towards another form of love, it is anchored in life, in existence, in my own selfish welfare.

This is beautifully written - it was a compelling read. I, too, live in a place that sounds very much like this. I remember thinking of cities as entities that never slept and then realized that meant that the all of the suffering never slept either. It's happening everywhere all over all the time. It can be a devastating experience to participate in frequently. It is definitely a larger issue than us as individuals, so the feelings of overwhelm make a lot of sense. There are very much parts of our society that I do think are designed with our failure and freedom in mind.

I'm sorry that you're struggling. I'm happy to listen if you ever feel that you would benefit from a talk. Stay safe out there.

 

[Judy Garland]

I quickly went down the subway stairs as if a car was waiting for me, when we, the users, are the ones who always wait. I walked the station to the end, perhaps because of the naive hope of reaching the train that had not yet arrived before, or perhaps because of the empirical wisdom, the result of experience, of knowing that there is more space in the last cars.

There, in a corner of the station, sheltered only by scraps of rags that were once clothes, showing her toothless smile and her dirty, tangled hair, was a woman begging. One more human being thrown as a bag of waste to be devoured by the anonymous city and become part of the inhuman anonymity of the urban totality. If even God ignores his pain, why would we do something different, why would we offer him help: perhaps out of empathy, but the real distance that separates us from that human being, from that waste from the city, was enlarged, increased by a virtual distance : tablets, cell phones, neon signs and other technological artifacts that seduce our attention towards ourselves or towards anything else. The subway arrived and fulfilled its moral and real duty: to transport me away from that human being who, like a mirror of possibilities, threw me the proximity of misery.

Discarding humans from the system is the sacrifice that the market God demands to maintain the well-being of the majority, it is his ration of blood that the capitalist vampire requires to endow us with an unsustainable well-being in another way: our clothes and other goods need slave labor and social injustice. We are silent accomplices of poverty, we are the ones who finance it and then, hypocritically, we wash away our guilt by giving alms to an evicted person. Nobody ever helps. It's not possible. Not in the current system because we are born defeated and trying to help only makes us hypocrites.

I discover nothing with my words. Nothing will change with my words. Nothing will get better either.

I have, yes, the secret hope of not ending up in poverty, not because I believe in justice, in meritocracy or in the existence of any kind of sacrifice-reward order (I witnessed too many social and non-social injustices to believe in the existence of any order), I only have that rare stubbornness that exists in the human spirit but instead of being inclined towards a God, towards a vocation or towards another form of love, it is anchored in life, in existence, in my own selfish welfare.

Don't you dare blame me for anything, ever.