No Escape
By
Dmitry
Orlov
February
05,
2015
"ICH"
-
Quite
a
few
of
those
currently
inhabiting
the
belly
of
the
decrepit
and
senile
beast
of
western
industrial
civilization
are
experiencing
an
extreme
sense
of
unease
about
what
the
future
is
likely
to
bring.
But
living
with
such
a
sensation
is
less
than
pleasant.
In
some
other,
perhaps
less
civilized
language,
the
resolution
to
this
crisis
may
be
expressed
as a
special
way
of
being,
but
in
the
language
of
civilization,
the
only
possible
work-out
is
through
taking
action.
We
must
DO
SOMETHING!
After
all,
who
would
want
to
not
care
about
things
that
aren't
important
at
the
moment,
not
think
about
objects
that
are
not
immediately
and
tangibly
present,
not
treat
depictions
or
representations
as
real
or
valid—but
rely
exclusively
on
their
own
perceptions,
and
perhaps
those
they
share
with
those
few
people
who
are
close
to
them?
A
decidedly
uncivilized
person,
by
most
people's
standards.
But
we
must
remain
civilized,
and
to
be
civilized
means
to
always
be
driving
towards
some
destination,
even
if
it
is
an
imaginary
one.
“Stop
the
world,
I
want
to
get
off!”
some
of
them
exclaim
in
exasperation.
But
they
are
willing
prisoners
of
this
metaphor
of
the
world
as
purposeful
action,
and
their
talk
of
escape
is a
mental
loop
(an
escapist
one)
within
another
mental
loop
(from
which
there
is
no
escape).
And
so
they
must
DO
SOMETHING.
But
it
turns
out
that
they
can't
because
of
another
mandatory
element
of
civilized
existence,
which
is
to
have
and
to
own...
stuff.
Now,
owning
something
is
not
exactly
an
action;
it
is a
state
of
being,
but
a
rather
impersonal
one:
person
X
owning
a
thing
is
exactly
the
same
as
person
Y
owning
that
exact
same
thing.
Nevertheless,
civilized
persons
are
very
much
defined
by
the
things
that
they
own,
the
brands
they
favor,
and
the
physical
setting
they
demand.
So
they
must
do
something
about
their
civilized
existence,
but
that
civilized
existence
demands
a
house
with
electricity,
running
hot
and
cold
water,
heating
and
air
conditioning,
a
car,
a
pile
of
electronic
toys
and
an
even
bigger
pile
of
stuff
they
never
actually
use,
but
simply
have.
What
prompted
me
to
think
about
this?
First-hand
observation,
actually.
I
just
started
a
house-sit
at
an
off-grid
house
on
one
of
the
lagoons
in
the
Bocas
archipelago
in
northern
Panama.
The
house
is
rather
well
set
up:
lots
of
solar
panels
and
battery
banks,
internet
access
via
a
network
of
wifi
repeaters,
a
rainwater
collection
system,
a
dock
with
two
power
boats
(the
nearest
town
is
30
minutes
away
at
full
throttle),
a
big
orchard
out
back
that
produces
bananas,
plantains,
mangoes,
a
cat
and
a
dog...
It's
quite
an
establishment,
and
it
has
to
be
lived
in
and
attended
to
at
all
times,
to
keep
entropy
at
bay.
This
house
is
by
no
means
unique:
it
is
part
of a
constellation
of
similar
houses
which
dot
the
surrounding
shores,
whose
residents
are
quite
gregarious,
with
powerboats
crisscrossing
the
lagoon
as
they
go
visiting.
It
is
all
quite
civilized.
Some
people
here
have
a
survivalist
mindset,
and
feel
that,
being
ensconced
in
their
outposts
in
the
mangroves,
they
are
well
situated
to
ride
out
the
process
of
the
whole
world
going
to
hell
in a
hand-basket.
And
then
right
next
door
live
the
local
Indios.
Two
Indio
kids
show
up
almost
every
day,
a
5-year-old
and
a
3-year-old,
paddling
an
ancient-looking
cayuca
carved
out
of a
tree
trunk.
They
hang
out
next
to
our
dock,
which
attracts
fish,
which
they
catch
for
their
family
meal,
one
fish
right
after
another,
using
hand
lines
with
unbaited
hooks,
while
their
parents
are
off
tending
a
patch
of
something
or
other
edible
out
in
the
jungle.
(The
concept
of
child
care
is
somehow
completely
missing.)
Some
older
kids
show
up
sporadically,
who
are
of
dating
age,
and
since
dating
now
requires
having
a
cell
phone,
which
needs
to
be
charged,
they
bring
us
their
cell
phones,
with
chargers,
in
plastic
bags
so
that
they
don't
get
wet
while
they
paddle
over,
and
ask
us
to
charge
them.
These
Indios
inhabit
a
wild,
roadless
terrain,
half-water,
half-jungle
(the
nearest
road
is a
two-hour
hike
over
a
mountain
pass),
do
not
avail
themselves
of
any
government
services,
don't
have
bank
accounts
and
trade
a
little
or
work
as
day-laborers
for
the
few
things
they
need.
They
are
the
happiest,
most
congenial,
most
carefree
people
it
has
ever
been
my
privilege
to
encounter.
They
wear
threadbare
hand-me-downs
(shorts
and
a
t-shirt
is
almost
too
much
clothing
in
this
climate)
and
live
in
little
shacks
on
pilings
nailed
together
out
of
sticks
that
they
probably
salvaged
as
driftwood.
They
get
around
on
foot
or
in
cayucas
which
they
carve
out
of
trees.
Their
goal-directed
activities
seem
limited
to
finding
food
and
tending
their
few
and
humble
possessions.
They
take
long
mid-day
naps
in
their
hamacas
and
paddle
out
to
the
middle
of
the
lagoon
in
the
cool
evenings
to
socialize,
where
I
can
hear
their
laughter
until
well
after
sundown.
But
we
can't
be
like
them,
now,
can
we?
We
need
all
this
stuff:
solar
panels,
banks
of
lead-acid
batteries
(I
need
to
check
the
electrolyte
levels
today),
propane
appliances
for
hot
water
and
cooking,
demand
pump
for
the
water
system,
wifi
repeaters
for
the
internet...
Whenever
it
is
left
unguarded,
the
whole
compound
needs
to
be
locked
down
tight
because
otherwise
it
might
get
looted
(there
is a
machete
under
the
bed).
The
stable
of
speed
boats,
which
are
the
only
way
to
get
in
or
out,
has
to
be
maintained.
And
to
keep
it
all
together
somebody
somewhere
has
to
fly
jet
aircraft,
perform
rhinoplasties,
tweak
high-frequency
trading
algorithms
or
do
something
or
other
purposeful
and
goal-directed,
because
these
things
don't
pay
for
themselves,
you
know.
I
suppose
I
could
do
something
purposeful
and
goal-directed
like
that
too,
because
I
did,
once
upon
a
time.
But
I
don't,
because,
first
of
all,
I
don't
want
to.
Secondly,
I
have
my
own
purposes,
goals
and
methods.
Spending
winters
in
the
tropics
rent-free
is,
I
believe,
a
worthy
goal.
Building
an
absolutely
amazing
houseboat
that
sails
is
another,
and
I am
ready
to
put
up
with
having
to
engage
in
other,
unrelated,
purposeful,
goal-directed
activities
in
order
to
raise
the
money.
(Rhinoplasty,
anyone?)
There
are
a
few
more.
But
I
refuse
to
rush,
because
that
would
spoil
all
the
fun.
And
so
I'll
do a
bit
of
blogging,
and
later
on
today
I'll
go
visit
a
nearby
organic
cocoa
farm.
And
I
have
no
idea
what
I'll
be
doing
tomorrow,
and
that,
I
believe,
is
just
fine.
Dmitry Orlov is a Russian-American engineer and a writer on subjects related to "potential economic, ecological and political decline and collapse in the United States," something he has called “permanent crisis”. http://cluborlov.blogspot.com
