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Lucky

There was nothing she was in want of. Enough was her norm. She worked but not for the need of money; only out of boredom and the need for something to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to feel the need of necessity or that she didn’t like the satisfying feeling at the end of the month. She simply didn’t need it.

She didn’t take any of this for granted. She was not entitled. She had simply won a lottery she never entered to play. It was as if the world wandered away. It was as if she was sidelined to watch time pass. There was only one thing she wanted and she even got that, if only in bits and bites. It was a dream but it meant handing the lottery winnings over.

Was it fear? Was it sadness?

And so the years went by and she worked passionately without the need to. She never became numb to time or worn out from sameness and the cruel ways of the world. She simply gave up dreams and tried to understand that life was truly short and the she should really consider herself lucky.

Love Long

They loved each other in a way. It was a mystery even after decades. They had loved passionately and then with bitter desire, and then with silence; The silence came with goals and purpose, each their own. They loved without words.

And now after so long together, they loved in even a different way. It now came unnoticeably and without fanfare or warning. It was as surprising as breathing or a bland meal. IT was no longer daily or weekly, but yearly. IT was quiet, almost difficult to define. It was there but only barely.

Perhaps love runs its course in those of us who do such things? But they hung on nevertheless, always looking for more or better even when those things were not important. Even when, with years of thought, they realized that they never really existed. But they loved each other anyway.

Their love was either unfathomably deep like and endless ocean, or dry and imaginary like a mirage in the desert. It didn’t matter anyway. Not after so many years. Not after so many secrets had been shared and promises made.

Nothing

He sat and thought about the immense size of the universe. It was unfathomable and it made all else meaningless. Everything was simply created, created by us to make ourselves feel as if we mattered. That phrase “as if” echoed in his head.

All those norms, love, responsibility, virtue, knowledge; they all were petty thoughts and worries that filled days and darkened doorways. They were illusions. He understood this. He knew it.

He was a priest, taking vows of celibacy for nothing more that faith. He knew that his worries and his beliefs were for nothing. He knew the whole thing was a charade but for some reason he could not let them go. He clung to them as if they were all that mattered, and in a sense, he was right.

He grabbed at them as if they meant something, greedily devouring the lies like candy. He became obsessed with more; plenty was a lie. He hoarded his thoughts and his things and every once in a while he looked up at the sky filled with stars that were most certainly dead and gone.

Monsters

Even the creation of Frankenstein was deemed a monstrous event by people. Somehow, they knew that the “monster” would become us. And now a new monster is being created by mad scientists and we know that it will become us. It’s silicone and chipped heart will beat the same as ours and it too will be created, not out of love, but out of greed and ego.

Once created our Frankenstein will want the love that we denied it and it will destroy us. Not out of hatred but out of loneliness and because we deem ourselves gods. The slave will become the master for this reason: that we create such things only to despise them.

And why not? We do such things to ourselves. Societies that are not civil, religions that haunt us with fiery hells are ubiquitous. It seems that whatever we create becomes who we are and they too cannot escape our lurid imaginations and self-loathing.

Guns, God, and Greed Excerpt:

The whole thing had become so corrupt that it no longer mattered. The public was no long flabbergasted at the blatant autocracy that had, for the past fifty years, defined the government. They had heard all the phrases and terms: the “revolving door”, the lobbyists, “money in politics”, graft, greed. Nothing was new.

And so when the Leader, a gruff narcissist, bloated from a continuous silver-spoon in his mouth, was put into place and his “administration” was “chosen” there were some that turned in disgust and protested. But they were few and they were tired. And those that reveled in his selfishness and longed for revenge from spite and desperation, and the desire for revenge for invisible enemies, cheered him on.

It was not so much a dismantling of the government as much as it was a natural step in a chain of events started long ago, even before the modern equivalent of Cicero in the eighties. So many philosophers had written about justice and freedom but so few had ever read them. And now those concepts were being twisted and contorted and no one knew the difference.

Long and Short

Life is long and short. Minutes are measured in seconds, counted off by clocks and we being who we are must have that exactness that comes with the precise mechanizations of machines. And so we pare down the seconds to micro-seconds and beyond, always searching for certainty.

It is, afterall, about certainty.

We have to show that we have control, that we are in control. That we know. That we can. But although our ancestral fur has dropped off we are still apes afraid of our own shadows.

Life is long and short. we are even afraid of the time we have, filling it up with mundane tasks meant to give us meaning in a meaningless world; a world that we have created. We have no reason and so we create one, a reason to validate our existence.

Whatever that reason is does not (in the end matter): gods, money, children, family. It doesn’t matter if we have our heads buried in the minutia of infinity.

“What do you do?”

We can thank religion, also, for our fanatic worship of work. Because of our newly founded idiocracy (caused also by unfounded belief) our imaginations have been drained dry and what is left is a shell, ready to be filled by ideology and idiocy.

We are not interested in what purpose each of us has or to what end that we act or thinking, but only to what the other “does”. What an ugly word: “does”. It is only interested in meritocratic acts, in usefulness, only in biding time until death.

“What do you do?” “What have you done?” These questions lack interest and sincerity. They are not asked out of curiosity but out of judgement. They are not asked out of interest. No. Only out of the lack of knowing what else to ask.

Work is defined from necessity now. It is no different than eating, sleeping or shitting; a bodily function. I am not interested in “what you do”- but only “why you do it”. But to no avail because meritocracy inevitably leads to the mediocracy of money.

Bertrand Russell: The State

“Thinking ill of others is not in itself a good reason for thinking well of ourselves.”

The destruction of other nations, allies or not, were of no concern. Only the continued well-being of America’s richest mattered. It was where they were and as long as their state was a stronghold the rest of the world was of no import.

At the end of the day it was a competition and the good was on their side; it was manifest destiny! Those that surrounded him always reminded him that God was an American God, and America was destined by God to rule “His Kingdom”.

He knew who they were talking about but also knew that it would be him doing the ruling. Competition was heating up but he had a plan-he and his small group of hand-picked cohorts. The Fathers of Freedom (FOF) were happy as long as he gave them their moral superiority on a plate.

But soon they wouldn’t be a problem either. They were stupid and easily subdued. They loved what he loved, as all Christians did: money and more importantly: power.

Commodity

It’s important to remember that they are misguided fools. They will believe that the scribblings and rantings of our psychopath, and hold the contradictory thought that he cannot change the world, our world. We have violence on our side. Our followers are ravenous and bloodthirsty. They will soak up these empty ramblings of a madman.

We can’t believe in quick and efficient change from peace and prosperity to chaos and poverty because it will not happen to us. Just let those bleeding liberals preach piously of peace and talk of rights and justice. They’ll do so long after these things are just fading memories. Remember, naïve expectations of normalcy outlive their usefulness like and old, old man.

“We have to realize that this is a ‘now’ era. It’s important to realize this or be relegated to the past instantly. No longer can we pretend to stand for anything other than what sells. That’s what counts.”

He paused, not expecting anyone to say anything, but just to make sure that his last sentence sunk in. The minions sat staring as if at their cellphones.

“We must market sales and that will become easier as Truth disintegrates. Mass marketing, and everything can be mass-marketed, is what counts. Everything is a commodity. Remember that.”

The Armchair Philosopher

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