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 The problem comes when the plan is no longer valid or no longer holds any attraction to the one that devised it.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!
It is sad to say, but it is time to outlaw baseball weapons as part of a rider to Obama’s United Nation’s Arms Control Treaty. A bad precedent has been set where black assailants have been brutally assaulted while in the midst of carrying through with their customary task of armed robbery. Consider how this muddy’s the waters of the national debate where within Chicago’s close knit Westside and Southside communities where don’t ask don’t tell in all matters of violence is already under fire by misguided forces who blame the de-facto state of war on lack of moral character due to welfare incentives that favor single head of householders and not firearms. Consider how destabilizing to the structure of politics in Chicago and Washington it would be if regular citizens displaced the Police force in standing guard over their own communities? No doubt the economic entrepreneurship of gangs would be stunted. The longstanding drug trade would no doubt be displaced and its sales might be so impacted that many different ‘black-ops’ secret government programs would become underfunded! The domino effect would no doubt affect major banking institutions as with Citicorp or BCCI who would see a drop in the amount of funds available for offshore account laundering. The operation south of the border might begin to collapse as payoffs to high Mexican government officials would no doubt diminish and the amount of ready cash to buy and trade military grade armaments from the U.S. Justice Department would crash dramatically. Just the thought of millions of armed citizens roaming around unsupervised protecting life and limb and their own homestead might lead to a backlash against politicians with longstanding careers servicing the fragile connection of international too big to fail banks. Needful legislations that defers the cost of these corporate empires might no longer be able to be put on the backs of the lower 90%! Our closest allies might lose the billions in military handouts of military equipment and lose influence over their own empire building initiative which no doubt would impact the supply of cheap and plentiful supplies of Cocaine, Opium and other similar addictive profitable commodities. Chaos might abound and tougher operating standards descend upon all the major multinationals in terms of employee benefits and shouldering the burden of culpability for environmental damage that their companies regularly produce. And there is absolutely no doubt that government subsidies and tariffs would savage the arrangements to pass off further increase cost of living inflation on the poor in order for top echelon of the business community to make customary high profit margins. The one-percent might lose valuable market share and economic playing field go retrograde after the many advances of the last forty years where wealth is once again more evenly balanced across society as a whole.
No, all of this is too horrible to imagine. We must all gather together to support Barack Obama’s campaign to ban, guns, knives, baseball bats, spoons and screwdrivers! “Show your support of this Presidential initiative and raise your plastic spoon high against further violence today!”
The emperor stood high upon a dais in the throne room surrounded by all his most powerful vassals. His chin thrust forth and head angled slightly up he sternly eyed them turning first to the left and briefly to the right. The multitude of hands within the room thundered with applause which made the emperor’s chest slightly swell and puff out with even vainglorious self appreciation. He was not like them, he was better! He knew also that there were many in this great hall among that thundering horde that hated him and would depose him in a blink of an eye if he gave them a chance. But he knew also that he had the power of a God to take any life he wished life by a simple whim. The plotted and ployed in their archaic bureaucratic fashion, shuffling old papers with meaningless declarations about the rights of all who lived beyond these great walls. It did not matter for his own appointed ministers could surveil their huts from on high and if need be send out a blackguard to snatch tey and their family from their beds in the early hours of the morning. The great mass of them were in turmoil anyhow. Too busy embroiled in petty squabbles amidst themselves to notice that the mischief came purposely indirect from him.
He had taken the wealth of the nation, sold its people into slavery, demoted those from former access to independence back down into the lower ranks of the rambling herd. This he had initially done at the bidding of that phantom class of merchants that though paltry in numbers, worked ceaselessly to aggrandize control over humanity by deceitful notions. The lessons that they learned over the centuries made them exceedingly adept at trading paper and other base objects for the real wealth of land and all its bounties. Taking everything possible from all their guileless neighbors that the encountered giving in return simpleminded foolish notions and encouraging baseless morals. These were powerful allies indeed! But as he heard the bellowing roar of this throng before him he knew inside that he could challenge even them with a simple flick of his wrist. Though he had been born half slave and half merchant he had transformed himself into all God. No one dare challenge him lest the slave class that he derived his name from would run riot and defile the false utopia of the others in the herd. He almost allowed the thinnest of smiles to transform his stony glare. But he leashed it in before he spoke in his own mighty voice. The sea before him quieting from its previous stormy embroil to barely sound of a whisper.
“Just a mile from my house . . . !”