This time it’s not me. Really, it isn’t. Normally, I would admit that it’s all in my head, but not this time. No, something is definitely going on that is out of the ordinary. I don’t know what, exactly, but just look at the bizarre behavior recently of people in the news, not that I need to go there. But I’ll put forward for argument’s sake the woman on the airplane who refused to sit next to someone she accused of being “not human.” She rushed down the aisle spewing expletives, which, of course, went viral.
Consider the story of aliens landing in somebody’s backyard in Las Vegas of all places and hiding in the cab of a backhoe, again, of all places (see They’re Here, Sort Of). Since they had the technology to travel light years, I presume they knew how to operate all those levers and pedals. Backhoes aren’t easy to operate, you know.
You can also find stories about violent attacks against pro-lifers; continuous race baiting; inner city shootings; revelations about a government-connected, Satanic pedophilia ring; drag queens and cocaine in the White House; France going down in flames (now you can inquire not just about Paris burning but the entire country); chaos in Israel; and nukes in Ukraine. It’s not looking good.
You may say this barely moves the needle compared to historical events in the twentieth century like world wars and genocide, and you would be right, although I profoundly dislike the expression “move the needle.” In any event, I have noticed things falling apart around me. Colleagues have flipped out, friends have lashed out, and family members–children–have been running around like crazed Energizer bunnies with a stuck “off” switch. That last one may be an exaggeration, but I find myself recommending that parenting classic, The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Birthday, more and more.
There have been other signs, if you have the ears to hear and the eyes to see. To wit, I have observed people speaking to one another and completely misunderstanding what they are saying only to confirm that they are on the same page, no problem, and then all of a sudden, boom! No one shows up for that important meeting. Granted, very few meetings are important, but that’s not the point.
Other signs? Every time I turn around I see spiders, a colleague went bananas the other day, and my phone company congratulated me on saving exactly 666 minutes on my calling plan. Not that I’m superstitious, mind you. Related to this is the pièce de résistance of someone in a meeting revealing that they are a Satanist. That’s kind of a show stopper right there.
–O ‘twould provoke a stone, to see how things are carried on in this world!
Laurence Stern, The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (1759).
Of course, signs, like beauty, are in the eye of the beholder (see Signs That Weren’t). But I am not interested in these events–whether signs or coincidences–for what they might portend for the future but what they represent now. And what they represent, I’m afraid to say, may be collective schizophrenia. Black becomes white, up becomes down, and people no longer know who or even what they are. This isn’t a necessary stage of the revolution to make ready a socially engineered utopia, not unless you’re in Antifa. Nor is it the dawning of the Age of Aquarius with The Fifth Dimension (see The World Turned Upside Down).
What is it, then? Well, for one this schizophrenia is not the result of natural causes. Society isn’t breaking into discrete pieces unrelated to each other from natural decay or mutation. The schizophrenia is, in part, intentional. Perhaps the most convincing proof of this is the Covid19 response and the futility of efforts dictated and enforced by–let’s be honest here–dictators and public health enforcers.
Not to worry. There’ll be other pandemics, other crises, and other conspiracies that really are conspiracies. Have you noticed that what sounded tin foil five years ago is not only plausible now but fact? The other shoe will drop soon, unfortunately (see Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop). I just wish that great Irish wit, Laurence Sterne, were around. We could commiserate about how, “‘twould provoke a stone, to see how things are carried on in this world!”
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