I want you to think back ten years. Think back to where you were, and what you were doing. Think back to what you believed, and what you thought, and what you knew to be true.
Now, I want you to talk to that younger self. C’mon, c’mon…just do it. If I can talk to my (fictional) characters, you can at least talk to yourself!
Okay, now that you’re talking, I want you to tell yourself a couple of things:
1) Bill Cosby is going to prison for rape.
2) Donald Trump is president.
Congratulations, you just gave your younger self an aneurism.
Look, in all seriousness, if some physicist discovered time travel tomorrow and sent a note back to his younger self, who the hell would actually believe any of that? Idiocracy was NOT supposed to be a documentary!
I’ve been asked about the “predictions” and assumptions I make in my writing. I’ve been doubted and debated about them a great deal, in fact: about endemic poverty and exploitation, about drugs and sex, and about hopelessness and despair. The future, folks have said to me, is going to be different, it’s going to be better.
So, just which of my assumptions are in any way less likely than #s 1 and 2 above?! Reality is — always has been, and always will be — far stranger than fiction, but humanity…humanity is even worse. We always find new and improved ways to screw things up.
One day we will have spread throughout our solar system. One day we might travel, even, to the stars. Hell, one day we will very likely beat the diseases and disorders and problems that so plague us physically today. But even with all of that, even with all of the technology and advances, we won’t change one bit just who we really are.
To refer to a previous post, we humans will always bind ourselves with Marley’s chains. Whether our chains are those of greed, or of ignorance, or of hate and intolerance, that clanking and clinking will follow us not just for the rest of our days, but also for all the days of our children and grandchildren…because, like every generation before us, that is the legacy we have left them.
And people wonder why writers drink…