New World's Humanity

Dear Diary,

I’m not human. I don’t think I’m human, and witnessing what others consider to be “human,” I don’t want any part of it.

Humans are funny little creatures, and I like them when I am not one of them, but when I am… I am deeply saddened. No one knows how to keep a promise anymore… No one talks to trees, no one just sits by the lake and watches birds do their funny little circles & sing their pretty songs.

I like to think, if I could just leave, paddle away in a little rowboat down the stream, fly on the back of a hummingbird, or pass on to something new like a ghost waltzes through the forest, I could find people more like me… But my dreams are waning like the moon.

I am unconvinced such places exist anymore. I am now convinced that the entire world spins as a corpse, only moving forward because of its inertia from when it collided with the Sun’s gravity, stuck in a loop until we explode, or just come to halt.

The days are getting hotter & the people are growing meaner. Just yesterday I was in the car with my dad, we were fortunate to be missed, but just there, in the rear view mirror, we witnessed a big rig truck collide with a small sudan. The truck, carrying mass produced junk from cargo hold to cargo hold, eventually to some over-sized industrial wasteland spanning too many acres, was going 10 miles past its speed limit. It was determined to reach its destination with a fervor so strong, the driver couldn’t be bothered with the pesky safety concerns a giant vehicle like that harbors. Low and behold, the idiot behind the wheel swerved into another lane & crashed into the much smaller car.

We don’t know if that person is okay. I asked my dad if we should call it in, and he told me with a wave of his hand, “Someone else will get it.”

I couldn’t say anything as my heart sank & my vocal cords seized up. I couldn’t think. I just sat there, dumbfounded.

There have been two grave sites on my way to work, adorned with white crosses & unwilting plastic flowers & synthetically-made teddy bears marking the sight two people, two teenagers, took their final breaths. One was the girl’s fault, drunk driving & speeding down a twisting road. The second was a hit & run at an intersection that is very well known & often slow. It was a truck that hit him while he rode his bicycle to school. Where was the remorse?

I’m sorry, Diary, I don’t write this to make light of what happened. When I sell you off to earn some dirty money to afford my living costs, this passage will prick the back of my mind. I will feel guilt for making these tragedies public to whomever may read, but I will not cross them out either. People like a good tragedy. It fuels their masochism.

Diary, I am not human. I don’t wander around big industries, purchasing hundreds of dollars of fast fashion clothes. I don’t wander forgotten malls with a wallet begging to be thrown out with the newest generation of iPhone or the latest plastic jewels. I starve myself from purchasing too much food in one week when I’m feeling particularly hideous. I don’t wish for the downfall of my favorite beaches so that they may be adorned with more shopping centers, parking lots & lack of trash cans & police to shoo away the bums. I feel so trapped in concrete. I don’t want to be buried alive in apathetic sediment.

I don’t think humanity is the same it once was, telling stories & making instruments to sing with the birds & the crickets & the wind & the water. It is sad, hive-minded to serve the greedy. It is empty & void of the life it once had. If there is no “aesthetic purpose” or “financial gain” people won’t even look at each other anymore. I’m incredibly depressed…

People don’t want to know each other by their names. They want to know them by their internet handle. They want to know them through a screen, and they don’t really want to know a person for who they are, only what they offer, what they gain, what numbers they have & how they serve you.

I think back to when I just began talking to human people for the first time through screens. The screen is a veil for who someone really is. I spoke to them without this veil & it frightened them. I was not the fiction they imagined me to be. I was real, I was tangible, I was unafraid, and they were scared of me.

Diary… Do you think there will still be a place for me when all of the stars on Earth are stripped to ash & speckle the air with dust? Do you think there will still be a sky when the Earth is polluted with the unintelligent glow from LED light posts our country can’t even make on its own? Do you think there will be enough soil to sow a garden until harvest? Or will the dirt be piled & packed so tightly with bodies of the poor & damned that there will be no room left outside of cemeteries?

I think I’m going to find that place. I will walk until my feet are sore & the flimsy, pasted-on soles of my shoes are worn into the ground. I will follow the bird song & I will leap with the deer. I will trek through the corn & stop for a bite to eat. I will lean & I will listen to what the wind whispers. I will learn old languages & I will adapt, as humans always do. Because, I don’t think I’m human, but I am a creature of the Earth & I will persist as Earth’s creatures always do. And, Diary… if I am to die in the maw of some beast, small or large, I will be happy. Because they will return me to the Home that is being taken from us.

I hope the rot will accept me & I will not die alone or forgotten by the bugs & the worms. Life will come from me, and I hope it will be the Old World’s humanity.

12.38

Apr. 3, 2026

🌕 Full Moon