I must sound monotonous stating the obvious; that we’re living in a barely recognizable society, run by corruption and incompetence. That there is no moral foundation left, no great ideals, no shared values. I feel increasingly like Robert A. Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land. America is on life support. Running on fumes.

Well, you’re probably saying at this point; okay, if you’re so tired of sounding black pilled, then why do you keep black pilling it, Mr. bigshot Community College Dropout? Good question. I often don’t know what else to write about, because the truth is cathartic, and unfortunately, the truth in our time is very, very bleak. I have a powerful need to write and talk about the madness which has enveloped our politics and our culture. Without the online outlets I have, I might very well seek a padded room somewhere, in one of our few remaining mental health facilities, where I could wile away the time pretending I was Thomas Jefferson or something. Mental health patients have always been more interesting to me than those haven’t been classified as mentally ill. You know, like the lunatics presently running this giant, crumbling asylum. As long as they’re not violent. Violent people are scary, not interesting. American Memory Hole: ... Jeffries, Donald Buy New $21.99 (as of 11:12 UTC - Details)

I’m fooling myself, and we’re all fooling ourselves, if we believe that life here is ever going to get better, at least in the eyes of those of us who lived for any length of time in America 1.0. Sure, I guess you could say things were technically worse in 2020, when everyone was scurrying around in masks like frightened lab mice, keeping their distance, and not hugging their loved ones. Or 2021, when you could lose your job if you refused to take the dangerous warp speed jab. But the trend is pretty clear. Very little has “gotten better” economically for the eighty percent of people who “lose” to varying degrees under this rigged system, in my lifetime. The monkey pox or bird flu may be coming. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Call your doctor and get your latest booster.

But it’s not like I haven’t seen positive changes over the years. I experienced a vast improvement in the quality of my life with the invention of the VCR, for example. I bought the first one I could; large and overpriced. It was 1979. Disco was dead, and things were already looking up. Now I had a machine with which to record all my favorite shows and old movies. I can’t tell you how obsessive I was with videotaping things. The best episodes of The Andy Griffith Show, Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, The Flintstones, Leave it to Beaver, and The Twilight Zone. All the classic Our Gang and Three Stooges shorts. Many old films. I had them all neatly labeled and organized, like any good anal retentive would. Taping each new SCTV Network 90 every Friday night became a real ritual. I try not to think of how all the cast members seem to be “Woke” now, and would probably applaud my banishment as a Thought Criminal.

After a few years, I got a top of the line four head Magnavox, which took my recording obsession to a new level. I held a Barney Fife Festival in my apartment, where we built a party around Andy Griffith reruns. I think my girlfriend was the only female there. When my kids were born, I had a series of camcorders, which recorded their every birthday, Christmas, Easter, 4th of July, sporting event, dance recital, etc. Now, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when watching them. Glorious memories of what once was, but a heartbreaking reminder of the realities of time. I accumulated hundreds of these home recorded tapes. I transferred the home VHS tapes to DVDs. Of course, I still have all the regular VHS tapes, because I don’t throw anything away. That comes in handy when it’s old baseball cards or comic books. With their dust and disregard, they seem anachronistic already, but I remember when they were my pride and joy.

Then, when the internet became available to all by the mid-1990s, I was in ecstasy. I began spending all my free time online, waiting for that trusty 56K modem to spring to life. The internet then was like the Wild West. Totally unregulated. You could smell the freedom wafting out of your wired mouse. The early JFK assassination forums were terrific. So was the old Liberty Forum, where everything could be discussed. No fact checkers. No censorship. I confidently told everyone that if they could stop the internet, they would have done so. If they made a move, some teenager in Japan would counteract it instantly. I circumvented the deadly Microsoft monopoly by using Word Perfect and Netscape Communicator. I advocated for freeware. I thought we may have finally found the way to get truth to the masses. But I didn’t count on social media.

My Space let you set up your own theme song. There wasn’t much you could do there, but I was thrilled to be connected to people like Hutton Gibson, Mel’s Holocaust doubting/Vatican II hating father. When everyone transitioned to Facebook, I thought it was great at first. I found people I hadn’t seen since elementary school. And an old girlfriend I apparently turned lesbian. In the early days, you could search for your high school graduating class, and every classmate that was on Facebook could be found in the same group. That was fantastic; a revolutionary way to interact with your classmates. But they soon changed that, without explanation. They didn’t used to censor what you said there, either. I left many radical rants on the record on Facebook, further cementing my status as a national “Do not Hire.” Then began my shadow ban, following the tyrannical banning of Alex Jones and other dissenting voices there, and on Twitter, YouTube, Instagram, etc. Which few really protested. Hidden History: An Exp... Donald Jeffries Best Price: $9.86 Buy New $14.70 (as of 04:30 UTC - Details)

I am still obviously smitten with the internet. With stars in my eyes, I continue to see her as she once was; lovely and willing to grant me access to anything my mind can fathom. Even with the onerous restrictions everywhere, I remember the endless possibilities that once existed for this marvelous technology. The potential for communication without an FCC to regulate it. And to some degree, that is still a reality. What I am typing here, in my comfortable home in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., will be going out instantaneously to thousands of people all over the world, the second I click on “publish.” I could never have envisioned something like this in 1979, even as I was reveling in the birth of the personal VCR and celebrating the death of disco. As a writer, it meant the end of sending out bulky manuscripts with self-addressed stamped envelopes. No more writing on notepads, or typewriters.

Things definitely improved for writers, not only because it’s a lot easier to submit your work via email than snail mail, but because of the invention of world processing. No more white out. No more messy crossing out mistakes in hand written text. Spell correct. Word processing makes the entire writing experience so much more pleasant. So there I am, sounding stunningly optimistic. Call me Tony Robbins, Jr. Next I’ll be reading The Secret or something. Watching Bravo. I actually have a streak of hopeless idealist still in me. As I’ve said repeatedly, that comes from watching all those Frank Capra films. Expecting those unrealistic but uplifting fairy tale endings. Where The People prevail. My mother believed that I could do anything. My father didn’t think any regular person could do anything against those who ruled the world. It’s obvious to any of my readers that I spend more time in my father’s mindset.

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