Mankind is lost.
I thought people were slowly getting more stupid on a weekly basis. How wrong I was.
Weekly? No. Daily!
They believe shit. They talk shit. They spread shit. And they push the ones with brains away, so that being retarded can finally become mainstream.
If you want to stay mentally intact, you might think about those options. But really, it’ll be just one.
Escape them.
Teach them.
Fight them.
Enjoy them.
Escape them.
So you’re spending your life surrounded by idiots. Not occasionally inconvenienced by them. Surrounded! So far, they governed meetings, relationships, entire countries. They spoke with confidence where silence would have been an improvement. They made things worse. For you. Your family. Friends. And overcoming this cost always as much energy as almost already losing a battle, every time you tried. You keep asking: How has all this become my environment? How do I get out of it?
You take it to the extreme. Death, you assume, would be the exit. Not necessarily a reward. But certainly a change of company. A thinning of the crowd. At the very least, a noticeable drop in volume.
What then? You arrive in the afterlife. And, there they are!
There are not fewer. No improvement. Not even a surprise? The same stupid faces, now stripped of urgency but not of character. The man who explained trivialities to you for decades is still explaining. Only now he’s doing it with infinite time and no consequences. The woman who confused insistence with intelligence keeps on going for all eternity. She now declares into a void that offers no challenge, just patient indifference.
As it turns out, death is not a filter. It’s no escape. It’s a relocation! The idiots don’t stay behind as some kind of earthly residue. They transition seamlessly. Whatever made them unbearable survives perfectly. The difference now is that it drifts weightlessly, like debris freed from the burden of gravity.
Meanwhile, Earth continues its production line. Fresh batches of morons, confidently assembled, already rehearsing their empty opinions. You can almost admire the efficiency. They walk, they talk, they misunderstand. And then, inevitably, they arrive at death as well. No delay. No exemption. A seamless process from start to finish!
A sudden clarity dawns, the kind that would have served you better much earlier. Your great lifelong complaint has a structural flaw. You only thought it’s temporary. You thought you were surrounded by fools, but it’s all limited by time rather than permanently coexisting with them. Your joy hinged on the belief that this state was not permanent. But change never arrived. And you stop waiting for improvement. You stop hoping for a better crowd. In the end, death grants exactly one insight. That it was never a question of escape. It was a question of distribution. The idiots were never limited to this world alone.
They are the system! You are in it, eternally, without the faintest illusion that the next room might bring improvement. You are still required to participate in a world that would not improve itself in your absence. There is no outside to move them to. No category they don’t already occupy. Every effort to draw boundaries or distance yourself merely exposes the structure again — indifferent to your preferences.
This cannot be solved by an absolute relocation, not in death and not before it. Escaping them is no option. The distribution is total.
Teach them.
If they cannot be escaped, they can at least be corrected. That’s your thinking. You replace separation with instruction and presume that the deficit is repairable. Because you think that they are not wrong by nature, rather just underexposed to knowledge.
So you begin to explain.
Carefully at first. You adjust a sentence, refine a term, insert a distinction where previously there had only been noise. You do not overwhelm. You improve. The idea is that, given sufficient clarity, recognition will follow. And it does — just not in the way you had in mind. What you said is echoed back to you, but altered slightly, reshaped, and delivered with the quiet confidence of ownership. Your thoughtful corrections resurface as their views, stripped of underlying logic and repackaged as ideas they’ve always held. The misunderstandings are efficient. It discards the reasoning. Because that, from their perspective, is an unnecessary intermediate step.
And, because they haven’t understood a thing, they fall back into old patterns of thinking and behaviour. So you increase precision. Longer explanations, tighter arguments, fewer gaps. You learn to predict their misinterpretations and preemptively address them, shaping sentences that feel like carefully built fortifications. Nothing enters or leaves without inspection. Nothing stays either. Your arguments pass through the conversation and reappear as something flatter, simpler, and entirely unthreatening to whatever was already there.
So you simplify. You translate yourself into something more accessible, more patient, more aligned with what passes for attention. You remove nuance in favour of reach. Now you are understood. Thoroughly, confidently. And incorrectly. Encouraged by this new level of engagement, they apply what they have learned. Not where it could make a difference, but where it feels most convenient: right back into the familiar habits that needed changing from the start.
You want to adjust again. You want to anticipate the misunderstanding and speak around it. But you stop. And you realise: the issue is not that they lack access to your reasoning. The issue is that access does not imply adoption. Understanding happens without consequence. Your effort to educate yields outcomes, just not in the direction you had envisioned.
They remain. Not stubbornly, not defiantly. Just simply as they were. And now equipped with fragments of your language, thinking and reasoning, which they deploy with confidence. And you, having invested in their improvement, discover that the only reliable transformation has occurred on your side: you have become clearer, more precise. It becomes evident that what you face is not a fleeting misunderstanding but a persistent state where comprehension is, at best, optional. Learning is not refused. It is rendered irrelevant.
Which brings this path to the same conclusion as the first. Only with more paperwork. It cannot be solved by teaching anything. Not because you explained poorly, but because they do not learn. Not slowly. Not partially. Not eventually. At all.
Fight them.
If they cannot be escaped, cannot be taught, then perhaps they can be reduced. So you entertain the idea that the problem might be solvable through force. And you do that with some clarity that feels almost like relief.
You picture distance first. Elevation. A quiet vantage point and a rifle with a scope and high calibre that turns noise into geometry. The crowd below rearranged into manageable units. You inhale, align, remove. Clean, decisive, almost administrative. The appeal is not rage, but order. You think about a world briefly edited into calmness.
Or, if distance does not work, how about proximity? A blade? Something precise, sharp and shiny. Something that answers immediately. No debate, no explanation, no misinterpretation. Action as a form of clarity. You move through the scene with a kind of efficiency you were never granted in conversation. Every gesture resolves something. Every motion concludes. And for a moment it works.
Silence replaces commentary. Space opens where there had been density. The constant explanations, the confident misunderstandings, the petty collisions of their tiresome presence, all of it drops away. You experience, perhaps for the first time, what you had previously mistaken for a fantasy: no argument is better than an endless argument.
And then, abrupt and intensely, they return.
Not individually, structurally. The voids refill, the gaps close once more. Where one stood, another appears, indistinguishable in function if not in face. The removal changes nothing. You have not been dealing with a set of people. You have been dealing with a system. Still, you press on. At first out of momentum, then out of principle. If reduction works locally, perhaps it would scale up? Perhaps persistence will accomplish what initial attempts could not. You increase the pace. You accelerate your efforts, throwing yourself into the process with a resolve that would have been admirable in any other battlefield. You can measure results. But you also become tired. The repetition reveals itself. Every action produces the same temporary clearing, followed by the same immediate replacement.
There’s not organising against you. They don’t adapt. They continue, because continuation is the only property that matters. The system simply persists. You begin to calculate effort against outcome. The numbers do not improve. They remain constant in the most unhelpful way possible. Which leads, again, to a conclusion that sounds familiar now: You can’t overcome them. This is not a solvable problem through force. Not because it’s insufficiently applied, but because there’s nothing to defeat. There’s no opponent. You are only exhausting yourself against a massive distribution of fools.
The appeal of confrontation had been its simplicity. Remove. And the remainder will either progress or also be removed. But they keep coming. The same scene, reset, which leaves you slightly more depleted every time. And you, eventually, run out of yourself before you run out of them.
Enjoy them.
So, we end up here. The only real option. If they cannot be escaped, taught, or fought, maybe they can be … reframed? Not as a problem to solve, but as a phenomenon to observe. You just retire in a gesture that resembles strategy. Look at it from a sufficient distance! You will go to some quiet, little corner of this world. Nothing fancy. Just a hill, a coastline, a boat with enough distance to produce the illusion of separation. You establish a perimeter to reduce their density to a tolerable level. A private geometry: table, chairs, books, animals, family, friends, sane people, good food. And horizon. Lots of it.
From here, the idiots are still visible. But they are no participants of your day any more. They have become the background. You see them assemble dull opinions. You watch them misread situations. They hurry, they argue, they correct one another into worse positions. And, with time, distance will improve them. Eventually, it all takes on an almost decorative quality. When their actions are no longer directed at you, the irritation diminishes. One might even call it amusement, provided one is not required to intervene. Gradually, resentment shifts to amusement, and before long, it grows into genuine fun.
And your space holds! You maintain it with a quiet discipline. Fewer conversations with them and a controlled intake of their presence. Your perimeter is selective. What enters and who enters does so under terms quietly established beforehand. You safeguard a small sphere of order, permitting the rest to unfold as it inevitably must. There is no victory in this. It is actually something cleaner. A local order that does not pretend to scale. You don’t scream for attention. You have learned to be yourself. Their world still intersects with yours. But it has pushed beyond the shores of insanity and drifts into the depths of chaos. You stopped asking how to change them. You stopped asking how to avoid them. There’s no need for that. They simply continue. Because you will see, there is relief in no longer being addressed by the wrong people. There is peace in no longer responding to those unwilling or unable to truly listen.
Sometimes they will approach, though. They will make it to your shores. Not aggressively, not intentionally. This background wants to move into the foreground again. You notice it in small ways. But you don’t adjust down to them. You will turn it into a form of entertainment that does not require applause.
It is not a solution. It is a way of life.