What to do if the gun that you are shooting runs out of bullets? Or in case you haven’t noticed the phrase, “I feel as if I am being slowly starved to death!” Plenty of unacknowledged historical precedent around the world for that. Not only of food but of finding possibility in the future. There seems to be no room for the dreams of the aged in a world that can barely support the aspirations of the young. Many quietly ask themselves, “Does that mean that I am to be put out in a deserted part of the forest as a meal for wolves?” Metaphorically speaking, or maybe much more viscerally so, I believe that most of us have. The material obsessed corporate world doesn’t cotton to media designated losers or high waged non-producers. It daily writes a script that gets to call the tune as to what is fundamentally reasonable and what is lightheaded folly. Most days the logic of the two are purposefully reversed with the express purpose to confuse and create uncertainty. Better the consumer experience controlled uncertainty about the same old products re-dressed in thinly veiled colors than the other way around where real competition changes their business plan.
There is a certain amount of safety in numbers. If you are part of a tight knit group one increases their odds of experiencing a lesser degree of disruption. That is, unless you make it your business to let it into your life. Check out those rusty junkyard boom boxes with temporary plates that circle those doubtful paradises of urban ghettos as they stutter blame and discontent upon the mainstream of society. No doubt because the handouts afforded by ‘Big Fat Momma Welfare’ have been a bit more meager that usual. The alternate experience is of course anything considered comedy or drama on networked TV where the guy who still is expected to bring home the bacon each night becomes both boob and butt. His life experienced by howling primitive rituals of envious others who can only find their own personal solace in denigrating his at ever opportunity times two. The fact that the latest television monitors sold to “John and Mary Q Public” watch you as much or more than you watch them speaks volumes.
Part of the experience of life’s conundrum of existence is finding a certain degree of passion within the experiencing of it. A goal or a purpose, however trivial can act as the motivation for a life plan. The problem comes when the plan is no longer valid or no longer holds any attraction to the one that devised it. In a land where triviality has replaced the focus once afforded to common sense the devil is in the suspension of detail. Conveniently transparent soundbyte packaged scapegoats come and go every few days and the continual task of picking up the pieces of ceiling strewn about the room from the sky falling in on those occasions leaves one with a brain fraught by mental rubble. Clear thinking becomes impossible when daily existence is mired down in empty headed minutia of sports and who is wearing what and fucking who. The projected mirror of consumer identities also known as the movies is no longer designed to fit the expansive proportions of what was once considered ‘normal’ expectations for a comfortable life. Like a bad suit of clothes marketed at a Costco or Target contemporary existence is currently designed for someone of perfect Asian dimensions but not for the traditionally bilious proportions of older Europeans.
One might notice that the ultimate goal of those leaving youth from adolescence is to get all inked up sporting a rock hard six-pack. A perfect analogy for a future lifetime of continual diminished expectations and life under corporate custodians that consider all others as marketable ‘human resources.’ The state created revolution of the Internet providing the ultimate Judas goat for societies foolish enough to post all their resources upon it’s butcher block platform. Life expectancy of the human mind will continue to plummet towards single digits as the modern urban primitive movement for nose rings takes virtual hold. The slippery hard rock of morals will erode to dust that will blow back and forth solely governed on self-interest in a manner that continues to appease the powers that be. If your offspring are lucky they may be accorded the occasional honor of prize bull or calf held at the annual culling of the herd. Perhaps at this point those Ranids known as our reader might notice that their limbs and torso are beginning to boil over a bit. That is because the fingers controlling the burners below the pot might be getting a bit more anxious for their nightly portion of cuisses de grenouilles!