Scratch Your Itchy Conscience

Cap a profit, put it in a locket. Boundless accumulation of greedy interests at play, interacting with the ebb and flow of inflation, recession, business booms, crashes in the night, leaving trails of overblown success and underblown destitution. The Hungry who don't know your recipe for success linger outside your doorstep while you debate over the perfect welcome mat. You're uncomfortable, and you should be. After all, everybody should be. Imbalance is a great fear. You can ignore it, but it won't go away. You can choose not to look into the eyes of what awaits you driving down the freeway offramp. Do you deserve your smug interior? The White Trash, the Black Trash, the Immigrant Trash, the Golden, Multicolor Grey Area Trash is all thrown away and recycled, perpetuating generations of conditioned behavior...brainwashed to serve your cause...rich, white and male, pat yourself on the back. The control is yours. Lobbyists know what's best for industries, politicians know what's best for constituencies, CEOs know what's best for their shareholders. Naive and surrounded by the privileged college campus on the hill, I used to think this was the invisible hand, guiding the capital up, keeping tit there, holding it hostage, letting it rot in the aristocracies...old crinkly delicate superiority complexes, their freeloading drug-addled offspring who wouldn't know the meaning of charity if it smacked them twice in the face. To say I abhor luxury would be redefining luxury in the face of overt poverty. Mr. Jones, you're got a long way to go before you've hit rock bottom. It's a long, slow approach to the downward spiral, as excruciatingly painful as looking a brother in the eye and telling them you can't help him when you secretly know you've just brokered a lucious deal with the devil incarnate. Insurance is a great big wheel of chance-you pay more than you'll ever spend. The Premium. You rely on being careful, holding yourself back, practicing remote caution, saving up for a rainy day, and when it rains, it pours...impulsive reaction comings spilling out onto the streets, and it feels so good to gamble, to put yourself out there in all your glory, with fear a distant memory of the day you should have died. Hold accountable the pillars of power and influence, look at the space beyond your bubble...it's struggling to create your political identity and make it happen.

October 24, 2004