I hear it from beyond the wall, the music soothing in a magical atmosphere of unspoiled nature. On the fifth floor of a big building on the edge of suburbia. In the fifty square meters granted by his economic status dictated by banks and financiers. On the landing, when he returned from the supermarket, it seemed to me that he was wearing a mask. Is this still about my neighbor? If so, it concerns me, at least a little. At least because of the physical proximity.
A well-intentioned citizen. Convinced of the ecological and nutritional benefits of pastas made with chickpea, soy (or perhaps insect) flour. In his universe he celebrates the use of the bicycle, preferably in sharing. Of the electric car, preferably on long-term rental. Of bodily wellness via yoga, aloe-based drinks and strictly -an foods (something ending in "an"). He makes for tenderness. It would, given its dangerousness. For himself but especially for others.
You might find him glued to the road asphalt at a summit to save the planet. Or immersed in some fountain, soiling its water. Or intent on spraying pea soup on some painting, at a museum. Is he still endearing? All this while changing smartphones every eighteen months. He underestimated that digital would explode, without too much noise, the material footprint of every single human. The digital; but wasn't that a promise of environmental sustainability?
One thing is certain; he seems not to have realized it. Granitic in his convictions. This is yet another race toward yet another industrial revolution (the fourth, the fifth? I've lost count). And it will have a cost; and a very high environmental cost. Greater than the previous ones.
He shares the same psychopathologies with the elite it refers to. But, sure, the "degree" is different. Although this is not important to him. We are all in the same boat, aren't ? He is basically just a moralist. He needs friends and enemies. But perhaps he simply falls into the old category of conformists. Always alive and kicking.
