I can see how and why people would like to think, the way you wake up sets the tone for the day. This gives a creature with very little control a morsel of vestige in the coming events. And it holds some truth, as all good phalacies do. The influence of your affect does effect people; in turn effecting your day. I woke to the beginnings of a realisation; an old saying that art reflects life. It occurs to me that business does as well.
Finally the whole deceptive mess makes sense. In society, there are now a large number of fat (i.e. really really fat) people. These people glut and glut and glut, and feast and feast and feast. They become so fat, they are house ridden. Then, the source of their life finally gives way, and their valiant heart gives over to the overwhelming slag of their store bought byproducts. But what of business. Here too we can find these rotund hephelumps. The titans of our age, fumbling around wreaking havoc and glutting themselves on all the money they can see.
I have come to a realisation. We are in the age of the overload coronary. Finally, these heifer companies that have consumed all they can stomach of wealth have lost touch with that vital organ that give them their life in the first place. They are confined to their outdated houses. With their only connection to the outside world being the cathode-ray-tube television they absconded with when they could last get through the door. Like cult leaders they force others in the world to ignore their own dreams in favour of a script they have constructed. This script has then been drip-fed to the starving masses as what they all want.
All too soon our brilliant youngsters find themselves being fattened for the slaughter. But what goes is not their bodies or their abilities, but their free-will for novel thought. That precious factor that has now been beaten our of them from primary school all the way to university; where they must parrot their predecessors to succeed. Film and television have been used to replace real dreams and now we find ourselves with the mid-life crisis phenomenon, and a suicide rate well beyond any other generation.
The american dream, is no longer a dream that comes from people, it is an imposed psychosis of wealth-seeking-wannabe despots. Just listen to all popular music. America is fat. Australia is fat. Most of the white-western-world is fat. And we are dying. We can all feel it. We have sold our souls for monopoly money. And we live in the society that even the religions should be appalled by. Societies that flout the only commandments actually given; we kill prisoners as a collective. We vilify sex and promote violence. We allow mediocre members to act as our voices around the world. And we do not care much that we have forgotten common sense; news papers tell us what to think. Luckily there is always salvation offered down from our fat leaders in the form of discrimination; it sustains the huddled masses.
I woke up. Ate breakfast. Drank coffee.
In need of not being alone, I went for an early drive. The depressing thought of early had left me feeling solum. I headed to the borough. It was empty. I headed to Vintage, where I found my family, or a portion thereof. They invited me to their breakfast, and for a time I sat content. Then of course somebody brings up the government. I cannot sit around any longer while the idiots left as guardians of the people systematically destroy us; being responsive to only the popular opinion of the day. I held my tongue as much as possible.
I remember a man telling me that the renaissance-man is no longer possible. It is strange to think that true. I think it is just not possible for him. Now that I really consider it, that has become a refrain of people. Telling you, with absolute certainty, that something they could never do, or anyone they think they know could do, is impossible. Completely irrespective of the fact that they do not know anything, and only their age gives them any authority to speak. People have forgotten that even if they are insignificant, they are important. The delight of being who you are, is lost.
I'm sure that if I could manage a platform I would either be killed, made into comedic sport, or imprisoned, because the fatties do not want to loose at monopoly. I have to remember that these people are three-year-olds who will throw tantrums when park lane is sold out from under them due to their overextended mortgage. More than likely they will toss the board in the air, tears will fill their eyes, and they will whinge about the good-ole-days in the sub-primes of their lives.
I came home to get my work finished for the day, and accomplished nothing. Except the beginning of the end of another design. Banks still ignore me, search engines are very slow at uptake for a world wide hub, and even my own book has turned on me at present. I am in a waiting puddle. At least I can surf and sun bake.
With a quick check of the mail I gave in for the day. I had physio and a dinner date with the bird. It is amazing how the promise of youth can regenerate you. Until you realise you are poisoning them with TV too. But it is all to keep you sane. Just to buy that ten minutes where they aren't tugging at your leg.
I wonder if our culture will be referred to are the addiction age. If we survive it that is.
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