Argue

For the better part of three months I have conducted informal research into the nature of man, of good and evil, of existence. Three months spent firmly entrenched in the belly of the beast, with little but my wits and resolve to guide me through. A Faustian journey who's only accepted currency is sanity. 

I've been arguing politics with strangers on the internet. 

"But Dominic," the naysayers naysay, "your task shall bear no fruit. Trying to educate people on the internet is akin to squeezing blood from stone." First off bro, I don't know who the fuck you are and secondly, what's with all this bloody fruit rock talk? You calling me queer, you libtard jew nigger faggot? How about you take your homo rocks and get the fuck out of my country. Fucking sheeple, stay woke. 

Apologies. After so much time in comment sections of various facebook, youtube, and yahoo posts I've grown accustomed to the... customs of the belligerently retarded. To attack at the faintest of slights, the most innocuous of statements. To vehemently crucify a stranger as if packersfan85 is all that is standing between you and Valhalla.

It mattered not the subject; from Obama's birthplace to Hillary's voting record to Trump's everything, all conversations in which I partook transpired and ended the same way. Conservative/liberal caricature posts a comment on an article or video of dubious integrity, I offer a level headed rebuttal with as many sources as possible, caricature ignores evidence and doubles down on craziness, I sit back in my chair dumbfounded by such intense ignorance, scene. Nothing is learned, nothing is gained.

The memes. If it wasn't for the occasional clever meme buried within comment sections the world over, I do not think I would have had the fortitude to continue my research. Harambe alone was enough to get me through August.   

My work has brought little joy these past few months. Brushing digital shoulders with the best of the worst America has to offer, those who find hastily made white text pseudo-memes viable sources of information, has dulled me to the point that 'irate' is the only emotion I can muster when browsing online. My studies have not shed light onto a subject as much as they have confirmed a belief; we do not want to learn, we want to be right. A sobering confirmation, akin to the true nature of Santa Claus or learning your favorite actor is a Scientologist.

And yet, I soldier on, as any true activist should. Oh yes, I do consider myself an activist. Some of us work on the front lines, building affordable housing in Sudan, helping women start their own businesses in Guatemala, or teaching Tomi Lahren how to read in Dallas. Others such as myself fight the good fight against the subterranean of the internet, the old racists, the young dipshits, the blissfully ignorant and the ignorantly blissful, those with strong opinions and weak resolve. I mean, if y'all only knew how many times I've had to read "wake up sheeple" or "I'm not racist but HERE'S SOME FUCKING RACISM," you'd understand the dire necessity of people serving at the vanguard of the internet, the place where oblivion and entropy coalesce.    

And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will call thou a nigger.