Yesterday I saw the most incredible creatures.

Our beautiful primate relatives, the very rare Bonobos, living right here in the Congo jungle.

Mainly having casual, indiscriminate sex with one another.

The Congo is the only place in the world Bonobos are endemic to.

So getting to see so many of them so close, humping on each other, was, from an anthropological point of view, very sexy.

The, Lola ya Bonobo sanctuary (Paradise for Bonobos, translated from Lingala).

Is a massive, protected compound, partitioned on both sides by a menacing looking electric fence.

Think, mini Jurassic park.

The fences purpose, you’re asking?

Good question.

I’m assuming it’s to keep these sometimes asshole relitives of ours from taking over the planet.

My exposure to Lola began by watching two men toss balls of specially prepared fruit mash into the hands of jacked up, bizarre looking people.

Relax.

They’re Bonobos, it’s just that they look so much like us.

That said, it’s strange how dependent these people have become on, these other people.

Is what’s happening here really philanthropy?

This one wants to eat me, this one protects me from that one, with money from those ones.

How confusing it must be for these highly intelligent apes.

How confusing for the Bonobos too.

See what I did there, course you did!You were probably expecting it.

No Bueno Bobby.

The ol’ M. Night. Shyamalan thing is über predictable.

It’s basic, you’re better than basic.

I Digress, forgive me.

Bonobos can’t swim, which is why they haven’t been able to migrate beyond the Congo river.

It’s why Congo alone has been their only evolutionary Petri dish (named after the German bacteriologist, Julius Richard Petri.)

I watched as a Bonobo lady, stood in shallow muddy water, among hundreds of green water lilies, her arm outstretched, fingers reaching, somewhat casually for a canoe, for that same ol’ ball of fruit mash she’s been eating for years and years.

Her posture and démunir jarringly familiar to my own.

I can’t help but think that we haven’t evolved that much from these beautiful animals.

They beckon for food from men on boats.

While we sacrifice our time and happiness for that other ball of mashed up fruit, money.

Some of us believing that riches or fame could solve problems paramount to the human condition.

For example, my paramount problem is I want a Pope, any pope, to autograph my Ferrari, when I can afford to lease.

How did the pope think this photo was a good idea?

“Bless this Ferrari in the name of the father, the sun and scotia bank, you’re richer than you think”.

Poppa Pope is looking for a brand new PR team, Hundo P!

I digress, again.

Fuck.

After smoking a joint in this beautiful sanctuary, I got real comfortable.

Really, r e a l l y comfortable, as I’m known to get.

I decided to interact with the troops of sitting, chilling Bonobos, exactly like how I do when I travel alone, through small African villages.

Not with my camera out, snapping photos like a caffeinated Japanese tourist, but casually, no camera, talking softly, introducing myself, asking questions with highly animated body language.

The Bonobos responded eerily similar to what I’m used to.

A pleasant combination of confusion and interest.

Some even approched me to get a better look.

Maybe I look like the Bonobo Jesus too?

It was at this time I realized these relitives of ours are in here not because they chose to be, but because this program deemed it nescessary.

Instead of punishing or educating people, that eating Big Mac Bonobo Ape Burgers is bad, they decided to put all the Bonobos in jail.

For their protection.

And if we make a dollar or two on the side, bonus.

Very American privatized prison model.

Very American privatized prison model, indeed …

It wasn’t until I threw my apple over the electric fence toward a gesturing male, that I fully realized the scope of said problem.

I’m going to characterize the problem and the ways I know it to manifest as: I’m smarter than you, more educated, better educated, rich, more powerful, better looking and finally, My dad can beat up your dad.

In the end it all condenses down to, I think I’m better than you.

After I tossed the apple over the fence, I was confronted by a panicked French guy.

“What are you doing!?” He asked with whimsical incredulousness.

Look it up, real word.

“I’m giving him my apple” I said, still chewing my apple.

“No! You can’t feed the Bunabos”. He said. The way he said Bonobos tho, really bothered me, bunabos, real silky, very little effort.

But the guys on the canoe feed them? I said like a twatty 15 year old.

“What!? ” He said, almost laughing at my stupidity.

“You could have disease or virus that could kill them, not to mention you created dangerous situation for de bunabos with de apple, because he could be attacked for it.”

“Well he should share, I said, still very high.

What?! He said shaking his head, not wanting me to answer.

“Look man, I gave’em an apple,

It’s not a big deal, I think you’re over reacting.”

over reacting was his button for sure.

He became beaucoup angry with me.

But before he could rip me a new B hole, I tried to explain.

“These animals are being hunted to extinction, not dying of some mysterious virus.” I said as he began walking away, shaking his hands over his head, like Dr Frankenstein did after he made Mark Zuckerberg.

I turned to Arsene, my guide, he loves me

“They live here in captivity for protection from poaching, not because apples are dangerous, right buddy?”

He nodded.

“They’re NOT wild, their habituated.”

Still nodding.

“This is a habituation process!”

…So relax! I yelled in the direction of the now distant french guy.

I felt bad.

I went hard on this dude.

Ham even.

I reciprocated his sentiment of exclusive intellectualism.

No friends made.

Not Bobby.

Not today.

Arsene and I chased him down.

“Hey man” I began softly.

He turned, his cargo pants and Eddie Bauer khaki button up revealing that he worked for the park in some capacity.

“I don’t want to fight with you, I said honestly.

“I think what you’re doing here is really important and, (deep breath) I’m sorry I threw the apple and got that bonobo beat up.”

(Sorry you saw me bro)

Then I put my hand out, one ape to another.

Put’er there pal.

This guy looked right at me and said.

“I will not shake your hand.

I do not want to be your friend.”

And continued walking up the dirt steps, outta view.

Ouch dude, ouch.

Proving that some people regardless of all that they may have in common, are more attached to the identity of “I’m better than you” than the philosophy of “let’s communicate our way to harmony“.

It was a loss for me.

I failed to communicate my way to a draw.

To a friend.

Maybe the only way out of this pesky, narcissistic driven mass extinction is to, as the Joker put it, “introduce a little Anarchy”.

Y’know, toss an apple over a fence for a homie.

Just as Friedrich Nietzsche, the 19th century confusing German philosopher tried to put it, “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star”.

Yup.

Let’s strive to be dancing stars Friedrich.

How about we start by asking WHY?

Why is this, that?

Why do I have to do that?

What is that?

Why can’t I feed the ape my apple, if you do?

Why does WestWorld suck now?

The Anarchist disposition ensures that you will be accused of disruption, even circumventing order.

But every action counter to order is in support of Anarchy.

This, I believe, is the solution for our, the Bonobos and the future existence of all earths creatures, great and small.

Anarchy

Anarchy

Anarchy

Forever Anarchy!

I mean could it get any worse than it already is?

People cooking bugs in oil, a foot off garbage covered sand.

Sleeping under rusted tin, on old cardboard.

No shoes.

No future.

Having all the babies because you feel culturally obligated to.

This established, order driven world just isn’t working for most of us anymore.

Was it ever?

According to a 2019 Oxfam statistic: The 26 richest people on earth in 2018 had the same net worth as the poorest half of the world’s population, some 3.8 billion people.

26 people.

A Ricky Martin fan club amount of people.

The amount of people waiting in line for Subway during any downtown lunch break, 26.

Calories per 100g of Pumpkin, 26.

Perhaps we need Anarchy now, more than ever?

Now, here’s some good news everyone.

As most of us are aware, the issue of gender, is being challenged.

Successfully.

That, in my opinion is the tide of Anarchy deconstructing norms.

If it is too late.

If we become apes again, I hope some distinguished looking gentlemen throws me an apple, even if having it gets my ass beat.

Word is born.