The planet was dead– bleached sky and dry soil (dry soul?). The utopia-machines lay broken and defunct. Uninhabitable, like the air you can no longer breathe.
Cherry flexes her shoulder and leg muscles in the cramped little spaceship, munching on olives. The shipment of drupes was the only sustenance she could muster for the journey. No matter– they were yummy and had something of mother.
And she was nearly there. The planetoid was on the screen. She and Cherry would meet again.
Maybe they’d have another go at it. Maybe jolt utopia to life. Maybe track down the enemy. Someone said, ˙noʎ ǝʌɐs oʇ ǝɹǝɥʇ sʎɐʍlɐ sı lɹıɓ looɔ ɐ
Maybe just reuniting with old friends, long unseen.
- While optimism is not the best way to exorcise the dark futures whispering at your door, neither is nihilism, since it too has been seized by the ‘necrocapitalist’ complex. Refusing this double-bind is crucial.
- Collective misery and individual optimism are just different sides of the same coin. Revolutionary pessimism inverts the formula (i.e., generalised optimism and individual unease) to forge a radical hopelessness.
–Peter Fleming, THE WORST IS YET TO COME
the Budafoki amended 
yet
to
come