BIRTHING DEATH; 365 Impressions of a Dying World vol.6

The body is a finite resource, like the planet itself in a framework of industrial extractionism, moulded to time like a second-skin, petering out when and if time shrugs it off to adorn itself in a wave of newly minted skeins; ones without the bitterness of unmet expectations, hobbled dreams, sexual jealousies and the mortifying realisations surrounding youth's currency and it's inevitable recession. But are kids really born happy, spotless, and all the things we sunnily assume about those halflings which by society's measure are literally halflings; as in, by default they have half the rights of everybody else (even less in some countries). The irony is that we worship youthfulness aesthetically, but in it's embodiment only curtail and manage and otherwise belittle it's voice. We only want it available as a fashion, as a tonic, as a revitalising mantra when the gears of adult-life start grinding us down (which are only and ever the gears of society itself, never to be taken as subjective absolutes, as forgivable norms; if only we could let workaday drudgery segue into bomb-throwing radicality because honestly, that strikes me as a more rational response to this world than dejection and resignation and pandemic anxiety; rage ALWAYS seems like rationality to me in a wilfully fractious world). We want youth as a poster, as a psychological refrain to mentally fortify against the onset of decay, which is horribly misconstrued as virality even in a word, 'decay', too many negative connotations bundled up in this word like hurtling towards death (the only inevitability) was somehow shameful. At the very least, make very effort to stopper plug or plaster over the ravages of time, as they're declaratives of that thing we pathologically avoid here in the west; DEATH. So by an avoidance of Death we worship youth but gag it. Because in light of our warped phobia of death Youth is formed as a comparative and distinct virtue; and in this dyad is only acceptable as a utility for those who've passed through into the rapids of life's second act (or something)? Perhaps the more phobic we are of death the more violently we embrace success paradigms which offer a sort-of transcendence of death through the legacy of achievement. And then perhaps there's a relationship between successful individuals and their predations on young bodies, because they're in the realm of pathological death avoidance by pursuing legacy, which also puts them in the ideological mire of youth's (aesthetic) worship. So I guess fucking kids would just feel like a logical arrival point, right? Am I saying that success dialectically arrives people at kiddy-fiddling, as a symptom of a praxis motored by the transcendence of death? Yes. Yes I am saying that.