Yes, a lot of the first world off loads its garbage onto the third world and these developing countries, in turn, generate just as much of their own garbage. Garbage that usually ends up in toxic/illegal landfills, into various waterways, or floating out into the ocean only to become a part of the humongous island garbage patches dotted around the globe.
In my case, nothing served as a more startling example of the waste we collectively generate than the local city dump. Occasionally, to get rid of old furniture and other random stuff, we've made trips to such a place as this, which allows you to drop off old junk in a giant dumping ground for a small fee. Even for the modest town I live in, this local dump, which is privately ran and is only one out of a couple for this area, has always had a literal mountain of garbage tens of feet high, by tens of feet long. It's sheltered in a very large half-open warehouse and there's always so much garbage there that it's practically touching the ceiling high above. And yet this is a normal amount of garbage collection for them. One that replicates itself week after week without fail. And they're not even the official dump for the city, which means that massive amount of garbage I've seen constitutes only a fraction of that actually generated by this city. And then, when you try to broaden the picture, every city, large or small, generates its own sizable amount of trash. Think how much trash a place like New York must create on a daily basis. Enough to fill hundreds, if not thousands, of warehouses like the kind I described above. Go bigger and think of the trash generated by entire countries, or entire continents. All the oceans of garbage and waste flowing out from our daily activity.
And this happens every single moment, every single week, every single month, every single year. It's truly mind boggling. How we're not somehow buried in it up to our necks by now is astonishing.
I'm reminded of a joke by Bill Burr, when he remarks on the highly accurate, but not often thought about fact, that everything we've ever used is somewhere. Think about your entire life and everything you've ever donated or thrown away. All that stuff is somewhere out there. Crushed beneath a landfill, or floating out in the ocean, or, just maybe, is being used by someone else. It's crazy to think about, isn't it? The history of people's trash. Those both alive and dead have all left their mark in this way.
I can't help, but notice how in every single house, down every single street, and in every obscure little corner of human habitation; people are using things, throwing things away, buying new things, gobbling up electricity to heat their homes in the winter or cool them in the summer, ordering take-out, driving their cars, making plans for international trips which involve air travel, or other things they'd like to do which requires enormous fossil fuel energy. In every major city, at every single moment of the day, people go to stores, they shop, they dine out, they go to the movies, they mingle at nightclubs, they go to amusements parks and take in all the lurid sights they can. And all this happens. Every. Single. Day. Year upon year. I mean, just think of how
this already has happened for decades now. From Chicago, to Tokyo, to Melbourne, to Toronto. Every single day. Every single night. How in the hell has it managed to go on for this long? With that much energy and resources being used by so many people, in so many places. By rights, it should have all collapsed within a week, yet it's been chugging along for decades now without stopping. Quite the opposite, it's only grown and grown. It makes me realize just how much there is in nature. How much energy to be exploited, how many animals there are to be slaughtered, how many other resources there are to be extracted. And that, as of now, we've squeezed and consumed every last drop out of it. Resources that could have lasted centuries, if not millennia, assuming they were properly managed, with far less people around to need them in the first place (at least less than a billion). Instead, we've taken all of it and stuffed into every belching furnace we could, simply to keep the infernal engine running. Hotels, restaurants, high price getaway resorts, luxury cruises, casinos, and whatever other bullshit you can think of. All so as to keep the lights on and the music booming in every single city across the world, and doubly so for the major ones. Like I said, it's just
staggering to me that it's all lasted this long.
For better or worse, the world is unknown to me. In my case, I've been a hermit for nearly 15 years. I've never partied, or traveled, or done anything at all except sit quietly in my room. A tidy and well kept dungeon of near perpetual darkness, with garbage bags and thick cardboard taped over every window, leaving me lost behind my own wall of near perfect isolation. All I can do is sit with myself, stewing in morbid self-attention or mulling over any number of other equally dreary topics. Too much time spent thinking about all the things I'd rather not think about. One such common thought would be whether or not anything else will ever make itself known to me, or if all that I've come to realize is all there will ever be. Perhaps hedonism is really all there is. Perhaps matters of pleasure, for whatever form that might take for each individual, really are the only point to life. Sometimes I wonder that, if the world is going to die anyway, you might as well get drunk and party like there's no tomorrow and experience as much as you can before it's gone. If this is true, as I sometimes think to myself, then I suppose I've truly failed in my life. I haven't enjoyed myself and I have nothing, even on the most base level, that could warrant my time spent rotting on this planet. No good memories, no traveling anywhere, no having unique experiences. I've been as good as dead from the day I was born. Everything I've seen outside my window or through my computer screen, might as well be like pictures in a book. A faint two dimensional shadow of something that can never be anything more than what it is. Resting in my imagination only, but not even passing as a figment of the real thing. I'm a pale imitation of life. One that wishes I could have at least gotten something out of all this, as bad as it is, despite knowing in my heart that I never will.
ADDITIONAL EDIT BELOW: Thanks for all the info. I hadn't considered some of what was mentioned here and it's given me more to think about. The world is, indeed, a large place and thus affords a copious amount of room for our trash. I'll admit that I wasn't aware of how efficiently garbage can,
sometimes, be disposed of. Then again, in a world where a large amount of the air, food, water, and earth is poisoned, I suppose it doesn't much matter in the end how much or how little garbage it is that we actually generate. Well, like I said, it's still staggering to me how long this has gone on for. Consumerism, starting from 1945 and onwards, has been around for a little over 75 years now and, with it, most of our modern conveniences. That's nothing when compared against the rest of human history, let alone the deep time of the natural world, but I don't know. Like I said, it's dubiously amazing to me that it all even lasted a month. The fact that our current arrangements can last longer than a week at most, is even more dubiously amazing.
As for myself, I've accepted my lot in life. For what little that amounts to, I suppose. Not everyone has a taste for life, or is cut out for actually living as one would ordinarily expect. It's a sad thing, but as long as humans have been around for, there have been people like me who have puttered about in their dreary existences. Those who've just sort of trudged through life carried by their own prior inertia and fear of death. Tens of millions have come and gone who have found themselves in this predicament and, to this day, there are still those condemned to do the same. I'm just another regrettable example of it. It's not fine, but I accept it. I am what I am and, for better or worse, no one should deny who it is they truly are. Even if who they are only brings them pain and puts them apart from nearly every living thing on the planet. That's how it is, but I guess it doesn't stop me from complaining about it, as I've unfortunately done here, so apologies for that.
If there are self-made purgatories, then we all have to live in them. Mine can be no worse than someone else's. Also, for what it's worth, I'm actually a pretty healthy individual. I engage in at-home exercises, have an extremely clean diet, and take Vitamin D and pro-biotic supplements. I do the laundry, I keep my room exceptionally clean, and, along with my mother, I keep our home well kept and decent. Believe it or not, but these are all things I've done for many years now. And you know what? I still feel the way it is I feel. Garbage bags over the windows and everything. Last year, as a matter of fact, I did enough work around this house to have kept at least 3 separate contractors busy for weeks, but, at the end of the day, I was still left with what I otherwise was. I operated a jackhammer and single-handedly cleared away tonnes and tonnes of old concrete that had been blighting our property for years, only to then do the back breaking work of disposing of it as well. I painted our entire fence, I painted and re-sanded our old deck, and I cleaned up the basement, the garage and the shed from top to bottom. It's partly thanks to what I did that we have a brand new driveway now, since I got the ball rolling on it and significantly reduced the cost through my efforts. But, in the end, I didn't do these things because I was ever asked to do them, but to silence the madness in my mind and to briefly make an escape from my isolation.
I didn't
have to do these things, but
I needed to all the same. Anything to make the pain inside my heart/mind stop, if only for a little while. Like modern media before I was stricken with anhedonia, these tasks were essentially a form of escapism for me. An escapism used to briefly evade experiencing my own empty existence. I don't know what's wrong with me, but, whatever it is, it's been with me all my life. Aside from my mother, and occasionally my older brother when he comes to visit, I speak with no one. I have no friends and, frankly, I have no idea how to make them. This is as true for the digital world, as it is for the flesh and blood one. I don't know what to do about whatever it is I am, but, as hard as it's been, I've tried to accept that this might just be who I was always destined to be. Plus, it's been so many years now. So many years of this. You fall down a hole long enough and, sooner or later, you can't imagine any other way to be. Well, again, it'd just been nice to get something out of all this, this whole civilization thing, besides just being a hermit. I guess in the age of COVID, that's what everyone's encouraged to be anyway. It's like Junji Ito's Army of One made manifest. Who'd have ever thought.
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