Nowhere in the course of this collapsitarian spiel did there seem to be more than a cursory acknowledgment of the misery of mass unemployment and the vertigo that would befall a nation deprived of the foundations of its economy and cultural identity. I was further bugged by the realization that none of these collapsitarians is a disinterested academic. They all come from the land of business 2.0 bigthink. Even Dmitry Orlov, who lives on a boat with stockpiled propane and espouses bourgeois survivalism, works in advertising.
Perceived value is collapsing, leaving only real value.
Collapse is a meme, and DIY a meme—just as the free market was a meme—that raises the tide for some, even as it exists to drown others.
SHOOT: Reality is terrifying, and often too terrifying to fully contemplate, never mind to even partially contemplate.
One spring afternoon on the patio of a comfort-food spot in Austin, Texas, a jovial, elfin-looking Internet entrepreneur named Thor Muller declared, "I'm a collapsitarian."
"Sorry?" I asked. We'd just met. I'd heard perfectly well. I just wanted to hear him say it again.
The patio was jammed with exuberantly Twittering adults, crisp businesspeople, and rumpled hacker types, in town for the South by Southwest (SXSW) Interactive conference. Muller took his place at a round table, ordered iced tea, and waved over Lane Becker, his rakish partner in a San Francisco customer-service firm. Adrenaline rising, I geared up. The indulgence of an all-out cosmological discussion is somehow permissible only during an out-of-town conference, like a one-night stand or ranch dressing.
"James Howard Kunstler and Dmitry Orlov are also collapsitarians," Muller went on, citing gurus with a fondness for apocalyptic scenarios. Collapsitarianism, I gathered, involves a desire for complete economic meltdown. |
No comments:
Post a Comment