Artemis, Shmartemis
Color me unimpressed by repeats of sixty-year-old feats, especially when they are obviously being used as distraction. How depraved is it that people who generally won’t lift a finger to do anything about Spaceship Earth latch on to Artemis in order to achieve their Prime Directive: to feel happy and hopeful despite total sessility in the face of physics-guaranteed omnicide? (Yes, sessility—like a benthic filter-feeder: “I can’t move; I am not a primate with at least apparent free will. Nope! I am a Hydra, and must therefore adhere to the ocean floor and filter-feed whatever the god-king Elon-AI-Trump’s neofascist futurism provides. Now fuck off—I have to bud!”) It’s, like, “I know I’m doing nothing much to stop the rape happening right in front of me, but I just need to watch Star Trek reruns on my phone, drowning out the screams, because, you know, one must be happy and live in hope!” The fantasy of technis-ex-machina escapes—whether to a bunker on the Moon or Mars (it’d be a s...
