Various unrelated thots

Welcome to my blog post entitled "Various unrelated thots". In this post, I will write about various unrelated thots.

Dear blog,

I woke up, put on my boots and coat, and walked out into the snow to check the mail. The box was filled to bursting with complaints: beautiful postcards with angry comments scrawled over them, from family and friends. They are taking me to task: everyone’s mad about the parable that I wrote in yesterday’s entry. That entry ends with a story about a soul who helps an ailing comrade. But that’s not the only offensive part. What most enraged these folks is that they can’t figure out which side of the aisle I’m sleeping on. They want to know plainly if I’m for or against the Truth. So, to be clear, I do hereby solemnly swear that I’m...

No, I’m neither pro nor wholly anti. I don’t swear but ambiguously. Thanks for all the hate-mail, tho! I really liked the attention. I only wish it’d been public rather than private.

OK, now that that’s taken care of, I’ll just follow my thoughts where they wander, as I like to do. No calculation… (or rather pure, cold calculation…)

Your guess is as good as mine as to why my first whim today is about the disadvantage of modern inventions. I’m talking about how automobiles are a step backwards from horses. Think about this: you can drive a hotrod off a cliff; whereas you can drive a horse TO a cliff but you can’t make him leap: the horse has a built-in safety mechanism, as it were. That’s why it was so awful when motorcars hit the market: for this made it wholly unsafe for drunkards to drive. Prior to this, a drunk could drive anywhere without endangering anyone; for his horse would handle the niceties of maneuvering, like auto-pilot. A respectable doctor, for instance, having received a midnight summons to a neighboring village, could gulp a few tumblers of vodka to assure a blissful trip, & then, on reaching the residence, still be sober enough to perform, with a degree of flair, the emergency cosmetic surgery and liposuction.

The next topic I want to address today is: Why childhood sucks AND adulthood sucks. You’d think that at least one or the other would be passable, but no: they’re both dreadful. And there’s a reason for this. Childhood is appalling because your parents or guardians are evil dictators who control every aspect of your life. The only decent aspect of childhood is that you don’t need to work a day-job. But even this is ruined by those “caretakers,” for they force you to labor at dishwashing, vacuuming, lawn care, etc. So you work even harder than the adults do, when you’re a child; yet, the whole time you’re slaving for them, the adults keep taunting you, saying: “Stop sulking! you don’t get to mope about life until you actually work for a living. Go find a career; only THEN can you legally complain.” So you grow up and eventually become an adult and soon come down with a career, and thus your life remains as awful as ever—it’s actually every bit as bad as it was when you were a child; in fact, the only decent thing about adulthood is that you don’t have parents or guardians ruining everything. But you DO have parental guardians after all, because your boss is an evil dictator who ruins everything; and so are the police and all other authorities who poke and prod you thru life like punishing devils. Even your peers, your neighbors, your fellow adults are constantly angling to wield control over you: for, since there’s no clear authority anymore, as you’ve all grown out of childhood, the general attitude is “every dog for himself”: it’s a free-for-all, a power-grab, like a shopping spree: better whip your neighbor before your neighbor whips you! All that wealth is waiting unclaimed—it’ll be first come, first served: so rush to nab as much of the spoils as possible.

Just as a child eventually becomes too big for its baby clothes, I hope the future grows out of this present age’s obsession with the “Free Market.” As I’ve mentioned repeatedly in these pages, my own father worshiped this concept—he was one of those guys who believed that, if we do not encumber the marketplace with regulations, everything will simply work itself out: no problems. As if the idea of a market isn’t a manmade concept to begin with! in other words: it is itself a regulation. But, OK, let’s follow my father’s wise advice and remove all the rules. The last regulation to be removed is the MARKET. And what’re we left with? Mere nature. The only actual “Free Market” is murder and rape. A pure death-struggle for domination. I hate this “free” market – I favor the total opposite: I love when humankind strives to build a societal structure that works for all souls: something whose goal is harmonization, total health of the populace, all basic needs met… Don’t we all nowadays consider the old “barter system” laughably outdated? We “solved” its old-fashioned clunky ways: now we use money and banks. Fine, well why stop here? Let’s continue to strive for perfection: let’s devise a system that improves on banking just as the banks were thought to improve on bartering. Let’s get to a point where we can laugh at the fact that, once upon a time, we all were prisoners of the Free Market. Let’s break out and become Market-Free.

That’s a good slogan, isn’t it? It just came to me, while typing… Actually, it’s not good at all; after 3 seconds, I don’t like it anymore. It just sounded good at the end of that long tirade. …But I wonder if I could make that last paragraph into a commercial. Just for no reason, spend the money to get the thing to air on TV. What would people make of it? Would they ask “What’s this thing supposed to be selling?” Would some viewers find it funny that an anti-commercial message was made into a commercial? The answer is no: people don’t pay attention to TV commercials. If I were to spend money like this, it would be money lost. I often dream of stupid ways to spend money; that’s one of the reasons I wish I were rich. I’d make an ART out of badly spending my fortune. I’d like to call a press conference where I present a giant donation, but instead of giving billions of dollars to a charity, I’d give it to one of these horrible corporations that we all know already have so much money that they must hide their profits in offshore accounts to avoid paying taxes. Why would I do this? No reason. Just to amuse myself. Or I’d like to withdraw one billion dollars from my bank account, and to get it all IN CASH—in single dollar bills—just to see how big the pile would look. Would it be like a hillock of banknotes? Or like a mountain? I hope that a billion dollars wouldn’t be smaller than I’m dreaming it is. Let’s say that a pile of one billion U.S. dollar bills takes up as much space as a dozen army tanks all clustered together. OK so we have a decent-sized mound of money here. Now I’d like to set the whole pile on fire, just to watch it burn. It all becomes ash. All that POWER, up in smoke! For no darn reason. Just to be stupid. —And now I wonder: Where would my act of money-burning rank on the scale of good and evil? My first guess is that people would consider it immoral, cuz they’d say I should’ve given the cash to the needy. Well the question is: How much can a billion dollars truly do, to improve our Inferno? How many billions would we need to amass, before we could proudly declare “Mission accomplished: World saved!”

& that reminds me, I should buy a newspaper. (Not the item that you hold in your hands and read, but the company that publishes such material.) That’s an old pastime of the ultra-rich: newspaper ownership. But I’d like to buy not just one but two papers. At least two. That way they could be rivals. And instead of being like all the prudes of the past, and telling my staff of writers that they’re not allowed to compose unflattering stories about ME because I am the paper’s owner, I’d say the exact opposite: I’d urge them all to compete to write the most damning exposé of my life, my conduct. “Assassinate my character!” I’d yell to my staff, just as the captain of a dogsled shouts “Mush, ye huskies!” (Do they really say that? Yes they do, every night in my dream.) And I’d encourage my writers and editors to fabricate the most awful images of me in compromising situations, and to lie, lie, lie till your heart’s content! I’d positively luxuriate in bad press, and all from my own publications. Tho I can’t claim that I’d have absolutely no reason for provoking this shameful atmosphere; for, just consider: This way, if I am ever caught in any embarrassing situation actually and truly in reality – like kissing three prostitutes under the pew at church, or viewing pictures of eyes in ads for mascara – these sinful deeds will seem like small potatoes compared to the stuff that my own papers have been accusing me of.