Today, I pissed off the mascot for the 2022 Beijing Olympics.
Just imagine, going viral for insulting a panda.
vitriol, toxic poison, flowing through veins made of ones and zeroes, hatred made incarnate; the pro-Panda community up in arms, offended on behalf of Bing Dwen Dwen, furiously tweeting, and I suddenly have a headache and would like to leave work.
I lived the Manifesto, as do we all, every day;
a cog in a churning machine, regurgitating profit at the expense of human bodies;
capitalism started on the plantation, after all
sacrificing health and peace and peace of mind, materialism made incarnate, the world weeping and the planet melting and the price of insulin skyrocketing, and I suddenly feel radical for thinking that the privilege of prophylactic medicine = life.
a miniature version of myself, a symbiosis, our prize in the Darwinian lottery.
I coaxed him into the car and out of the car and into his chair and out of the bath, syrup in my voice, authority in my eyes, unconditional love made incarnate, until our four year-old nonverbal spectrum of wonder sleeps, and I suddenly wonder how to navigate with him through a world I cannot share.
I tried to eat food;
the omnipresent voice of my anorexia reminding me of my inherent worthlessness.
The bones of my skeleton are forever hidden too far under flesh and fat for me to appreciate their prominence, self-loathing made incarnate, and I suddenly feel guilt for the weight of the world, Sisyphus’ rock, and shame for having needs, biophysical needs, the needs of a body without value or willpower that I cannot overcome.
I stayed up too late staring at Twitter.
I am a villain, monocle affixed, twirling a coiffed mustache, out for vengeance and pandas; I am Lex Luthor to 2022 Olympic Mascot Bing Dwen Dwen’s Superman.
a world that loves pandas cannot tolerate a mentally ill Marxist with a special needs son who chooses to tweet Pandas are something I don’t really agree with at the reveal of the mascot for the Games of the XXIV Winter Olympiad, satire made incarnate, and I suddenly feel lonely and misunderstood and want to go to bed.
I lived and
I will live again.
Shannon Frost Greenstein is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, a Contributing Editor for Barren Magazine, and a former Ph.D. candidate in Continental Philosophy. Her work has appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Crab Fat Magazine, and elsewhere. Follow her on Twitter at @mrsgreenstein or her website: http://www.shannonfrostgreenstein.wordpress.com.
Image via Pixabay