How collapse became a lifestyle brand, why denial is the new national pastime, and what’s left when the lights go out.
How do I feel?
Not merely today — no, I mean in the grand, cosmic, thunderclap-of-history sense of “what in the seven gilded hells just happened to the last five years?”
Well, thank you for inquiring.
It feels like waking up in a house that’s not merely on fire, but ablaze in glorious ruin — and realizing, with theatrical horror, that it was your own hand that struck the match. Then, instead of grabbing a hose, you find yourself arguing with the neighbors over who was supposed to water the plants.
And yet, everyone I speak with clings wistfully to a fantasy: that pre-2020 was some kind of lost Arcadia — a realm of breathable air, civil discourse, and reasonably priced groceries. Then came COVID, stumbling into the room like a chainsaw-wielding clown crashing a christening, and the entire edifice of “normal” tore itself apart.
But let us not pretend the seams were intact. That sweater was riddled with holes decades ago. We just didn’t notice — too busy striking poses, selfie-stupid, in front of its unraveling threads.
The Pageant of Woe: A Brief Recital Since 2020
- A global pandemic that transformed every dullard with a Wi-Fi signal into a self-declared epidemiologist.
- Lockdowns that once would’ve seemed like Orwellian fan fiction, now cheered by the same people who used to chant “freedom” like it was gospel at Burning Man.
- The most savage war on European soil since 1945, now complete with TikTok dispatches from the trenches. Nothing says “end times” like livestreamed artillery.
- The eternal Middle East conflict — metastasizing across borders with the grace and speed of an airborne malignancy.
- The first real skirmish between nuclear-armed powers since we realized nukes might not be the best party favor.
- China’s “miracle” economy faceplanting on its own debt-fattened ambitions.
- The United States hacking away at the remains of globalisation with the delicacy of a drunken lumberjack, and wondering why everything’s falling apart.
And those are merely the fireworks on the opening night. The overture of chaos. The appetizer, if you will.
People want their old lives back. It’s adorable. Like children screaming for a rewind after the birthday cake has exploded. But the truth? Those lives were already on life support — propped up by a toxic cocktail of debt, dopamine, and mass delusion.
This isn’t an unexpected collapse. It’s the long-overdue consequence of 40 years of “just one more quarter of growth” — a death cult of incrementalism, supercharged by clownish politics and TikTok-level theatrics.
The Illusion of Stability
No, the rot didn’t begin in 2020.
It didn’t even begin in 2008 — though that was our last off-ramp before the bridge gave out.
We could have gutted the corrupt financial system. Broken up the Leviathans of “too big to fail.” Rebuilt something sane, sturdy, real.
It would’ve hurt — like surgery without anesthetic. But we might have survived with our dignity, and perhaps a soul.
Instead, we chose morphine: bailouts, quantitative easing, technocratic lullabies, and a greenwashed religion of planetary salvation that seems mostly to enrich carbon-credit priests in tailored suits.
Remember 2008? We saved the banks and let the people drown. Wall Street soared while Main Street was boarded up. Executives laughed all the way to the Cayman Islands. And the rest of us got an “attention economy” that pays in dopamine rather than dollars.
The parasite class — corporate jackals in bed with political courtesans — sold the lie of eternal growth while gutting the real economy. Those who tried to produce real goods, real value? Buried under bureaucratic gravel and moral grandstanding.
And still, somehow, people ask, “Why is everything suddenly falling apart?”
Spoiler: The Crash Already Happened
Today’s “major economies” are essentially Ponzi schemes with an anthem. The U.S. is one big deficit-spackled illusion. The EU is juggling energy policy, immigration, and delusion in equal measure. China’s playing Jenga with a collapsing housing market.
It’s all performance art now: Pretend. Delay. Hope the mask doesn’t fall before the next election.
Look around:
Germany — once the mighty forge of Europe — is quietly shedding its industry.
The U.K. is a satire of itself, virtue-signaling in a crown.
The U.S. no longer accepts peaceful transfers of power.
France is on fire. Italy is bankrupt. Japan is pirouetting on a mountain of debt like a drunk ballerina.
Even smug, tranquil Switzerland is sweating its balance sheets in private.
And when the collapse is finally undeniable, you’ll hear the same refrain: “No one could’ve seen this coming!”
But they did. Plenty of us did. And we were shouted down by influencers who’ve never changed a tire, much less prepared for systemic collapse.
Bread, Circuses, and Denial
The public doesn’t want truth. It wants Wi-Fi, avocado toast, and curated Netflix menus. It wants the sensation of wealth while drowning in IOUs.
Inflation is not just a statistic — it’s a slow-motion mugging. Groceries up 40%, housing a fantasy, health insurance a parody of itself. But the malls are full, the flights overbooked, the brunch tables teeming with Prosecco.
We all see the iceberg. But heaven forbid we spill our cocktail by changing course.
And those who do try to prepare? They’re mocked, dismissed, laughed out of polite society — until the cracks show, and then everyone imitates them in a panic.
The Parasite Class Is Not Your Savior
Let us not forget our “betters.”
The politicians, the CEOs, the media courtiers, the Insta-elites. They are not riding this train with us. They’re sipping vintage champagne in Davos and buying backup villas in Patagonia.
They preach carbon frugality from Gulfstreams. Ban your gas stove while building their third Aspen chalet.
They aren’t steering the ship. They’re looting the lifeboats — and somehow, we still vote them back in and beg for rescue.
Who, I ask you, is the real madman here?
The Pain Is the Point
Even if we reversed course today — which we won’t — the pain would be profound. Losses of wealth, comfort, stability, and illusion.
That’s the price of four decades of fantasy economics.
But no, we’ll keep pretending. Keep scrolling. Keep tweeting about celebrity scandals while the world beneath us dissolves.
So yes — it will get worse.
People will lose homes, savings, hope. Some will lose their lives.
And still, the collective gasp will be: “Why didn’t anyone do anything?”
Silver Lining: The House of Lies Is Finally Burning
Here’s your good news — such as it is: this whole gaudy circus has to burn.
The fake wealth. The infinite growth delusion. The trustless, hollow institutions. The green dogmas wrapped in fossil-fueled hypocrisy.
Let it fall.
Only from the ashes can something worth building emerge.
We need:
- Work that creates real value
- Local economies based on trust, not tech
- Communities that know their neighbors
- Systems that serve people, not metrics
- And a thorough purge of the bloated parasite caste that’s bled us dry
You can’t accelerate it. The mob won’t let you. Nor will the elite. The ship is heading toward the iceberg, and we can’t steer. But we can brace.
Because while the grand stage is out of your hands, the small theater — your life — is not.
Forget Bunkers. Build Resilience.
Survival begins not with gear, but with mindset. Preparation means clarity. It means learning to detach from a collapsing system before it takes you down.
Know this: people don’t snap when they have nothing. They snap when they have not enough. If your threshold for “enough” is lower than most, you’re ahead of the game.
Own less. Need less. Want less. That’s not poverty — it’s liberation.
Our grandparents endured war, starvation, horror — and rebuilt. Today we panic when Spotify raises the subscription fee.
Wake Up — Or Go Down With the Ship
Most people will sleepwalk to the end. That’s always how it goes.
But you don’t have to.
You can stay awake. You can think. Prepare. Adapt.
Forget “normal.” It’s gone. And there’s freedom in that.
You don’t need hope. You need clarity.
You don’t need more. You need less, treasured more deeply.
You don’t need safety. You need resilience.
Face the world. Build small. Think local. Expect pain. Earn strength.
It’s simple. Not easy. But survival never is.
Your move.