Here's what I think: the tipping point has tipped.
Here's what I think since the last time I thought something and blarghed it.
We're ants, but ants driven by power, not survival.
Unless I think that power equals survival, in which case we're doing math, which I don't do. Aren't ants a cool metaphor?
Yes a bad mood, a bad cold, a bad soccer team bring out the apocalyptic in me,
"Things that bring out the apocalyptic in me" is a very limited-edition release. Nah, just joshing you.
but you don't think that capital's suits know how fucked-up their sandcastles are
Yes. We do. Thank you for bringing home once again the meaningless moral void that is my mindnumbing pursuit of feeding my babies and not having to work until I'm 85, assuming I have the grace to inflict myself on others for that long.
and are developing schemes to maximize profits in the fucking crumbling of their fucking crumbling sandcastles?
Crumbling? Awesome. Do I get a free pass on up against the wall? Will you feed Databoy and Bam-Bam for me? And find someone reasonably clean to provide booty calls for Ilse? By the way, do you know that, even when I'm pretty much stealing your tax dollars (in a moral sense--I am not criminally defrauding, nor have I ever, criminally defrauded the United States Government), I'm still selling bodies cheaper than the government could employ them? Bodies are cool. Sorta like this.
Aw, crap. One of those had flies instead of ants. Totally ruined everything.
Yes, they would rather incinerate the planet than not buy that fourth Hublot Black Caviar Bang.
Dood, I'm capital (though small-time), and I don't even wear a fucking watch. Will you let it the fuck go? You're letting the fucking terrorists win.
Well, exactly. All that fucking Cold War stress is fucking exhausting, and to make the post-Cold War stress exactly the fucking same, except compounded exponentially by angst over Marx' abject and, really, inexcusable failure to provide a functional model for civil society, and coupled with a perverse fascination with fucking Derrida (and really, parse the gerund however you want), is positively draining. Go throw discs, would you?
(With, as always, nothing but love. I started the morning by sliding/falling down the stairs1. How you doin'?)
1 I'm fine. Just a little bruised. And not even in the head. Really.