Dear diary,
Here’s how to enslave a man: Just get him further and further into debt, until he’s no longer able to pay you; then you can take ownership of his person. This is the only ethical outcome, when a debt remains unpaid. Debt cannot be forgiven; that’s unthinkable. Instead, you take the debtor’s house and all his belongings; you take his spouse and any children that he’s been blessed with — these will cover some of the overdue payments — and, ultimately, like I said, you take the man himself.
Here, I’ll send you one of those pre-written greeting cards: Congratulations on the purchase of your first human.
I like debt because it’s a game with really weird rules. I like games and weirdness for their own sake, so this appeals to me. Let me now try to get at the heart of this concept:
What is debt? Say that I lend you five U.S. dollars. Now you are guilt-ridden and must perform hard labor until you earn enough cash to pay me back. Supposing you can pay me back, then alas we are even. But usually the outcome is that the debtor cannot manage to repay his creditor, therefore the creditor sez: “I will call the debt settled, if you grant me one evening with your wife.”
So they have dinner, and the case is closed. The debtor never thinks to say: “But now you are in MY debt, O former creditor: the tables have turned, and you actually owe me one hundred dollars; because I only owed you five, and the book value of a candlelit meal with anyone’s soul-mate is ten percent of the amount that the individual in question would normally earn for a full night of work, which in my wife’s case is exactly one thousand dollars. A tenth of that is an hundred, and the extra five is interest.”
No, the debtor never thinks to say this. So firearms never enter the picture, since they need not be drawn.
II
Let’s focus on this idea of interest, now. What is interest? Why is it that when I dined with your wife for five dollars, I ended up owing you a total of one hundred & five dollars? How did all those extra debt-accumulations materialize? Of what parentage are these the lovechildren?
In order to answer this, we need to explain how ancient notions of divine impregnation via thin-air are able to influence one’s…
Actually the real answer is that I don’t know. But let me still try to offer a guess; cuz I think I’m nearing the finish line, on the road to understanding:
It seems that the way we calculate debt nowadays (I write during the time when most men no longer tend their own herd) incorporates the idea of potential growth and likely change. For instance, let’s say that I invent a new style of barnyard animal: I perform a wild and dangerous experiment in my scientific laboratory — a goat is placed at stage left, and a lamb is placed at stage right; and electronic wires connect these two fine actors; then, when I flip the switch, a bolt of fire from heaven dances thru the lab and causes our respective subjects to fuse into a single hybrid; which, being part goat and part lamb, is christened a glam.
Now this glam is lonely, as it is one-of-a-kind. So I perform a second experiment where I remove one of the glam’s male organs (it has two, like the Devil, after whose image it was created); and, out of this organ, I fashion a wholly new creature: an ideal glam, known as “female glamor-model”; for she was first employed by glam, and he eventually lobbied for her to be granted corporate personhood.
Then my two glams retire to their penthouse suite, because I corral them there after hearing the doorbell buzz…
I hasten to answer:
“Yes?” I say, creaking open the huge musty oak door.
“Hi, my name is Legion,” the stranger sez; “and I’m in dire need of a herd of barnyard animals. Preferably a billion pigs. Cuz here’s the deal. I inherited a farm from my uncle Bryan who drank himself to death. Now I need some beings to raise on this farm, cuz my uncle Bryan didn’t believe in keeping livestock — he called that wage slavery (even tho nobody ever plans on paying them; at least not an amount that one could live on) and old Bry wanted no part of it: he used to say that the only moral way to enslave a life was thru straightforward debt bondage. So anyway, I’m jonesing to possess some living creatures, cuz, like I said, I got this farm that’s totally vacant: its grass is long, and it’s got a lot of weeds that I hope some living thing might like to eat. Cuz I hate mowing, in general. Moreover, sickles are now on the List of Prohibited Implements: they’ve been declared illegal to own, since they remind our Intel Agencies of the threat of communism; because the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics sewed a depiction of a hammer & sickle upon their flag, against a red background.”
“Well,” I answer, “I’m not willing to sell you anything outright, but I did just invent a new species that I’d happily lend to you. What I mean is that you could borrow them but you’d need to return them eventually.”
“Sure, I’m interested. May I look at the merchandise before I purchase their souls?”
“No!” I say, “I just told you, they’re not for sale. I’m only willing to let you lodge my two new creatures temporarily over on your farm, because then you’ll be in debt to me: you will owe me two glams back (that’s their name: ‘glam’ is the metrosexual, and its mate’s name is ‘female glamor-model’; they’re known as ‘glams’ collectively; and if they prove fertile, their litter of young shall be known as ‘glitz’ — a single kid would be a ‘glit’, but I don’t suspect they’ll ever be so low-energy as to gestate only one lone measly offshoot, so we made the term plural by adding a ‘z’ to its rear); that’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”
[Now, I want to make it clear to my audience that this next chunk of dialogue was stolen from the 2013 film WRONG COPS, which was written and directed by Quentin Dupiuex — please think of it as an homage rather than a plagiarism.]
“Sold!” sez Legion. “So... do we kiss now, to seal the deal?”
“Why do you want to kiss me?” I say.
“Well, isn’t that the way it’s done, in the trade world? Everyone kisses everyone?”
“No.” I say.
“Oh, I thought it was,” sez Legion. “Maybe it’s just a regular business thing, not for high finance.”
“See ya, Liege.”
“Thanks, buddy,” he sez. “Peace out. Take care, Jeez.”
[Here marks the end of this entry’s debt to WRONG COPS.]
III
So that’s how our hybrids wound up on Bryan’s Farm; which, now being under the management of Legion, proved fruitful as heck. The glams procreated infinite glitz. They bore more offspring than there were stars in the dark. And they did a pretty good job keeping the weeds under control: the whole yard was formerly overrun with this ugly type of crabgrass or quackgrass, but the glams were able to consume a major percentage of it — cuz that’s all they did: they just grazed on the weeds all day. There was nothing else to do on Bryan’s Farm, unless you know how to read — for he had a small but decent library — but all glams are post-literate (hence their glitz).
IV
Now the day arrived when I had to drive my reddish-brown pickup over to Legion’s homestead and ask for my glams back. Cuz he owed me two glams plus interest. So I pulled up in front of the grain silo, parked about halfway on the gravel and half in the yard, labored out of my driver’s seat, and walked in the direction of the outhouse. When I was exactly three paces from the door (there was a mark on the ground, out of camera-shot, so my character knew precisely where to seem shocked), the door of the outhouse slam-burst open of its own accord, and Legion emerged:
“Oh, hi! I wasn’t expecting you,” sez Legion. “Welcome! Can I bring you some hard cider or a Long Island Iced Tea?”
“No, I thank ye,” say I; “I was just fittin’ to use the jakes.” Then I enter the outhouse. However, before securing the door behind me, I turn & say in a meek voice:
“Actually, when I heard you declare that you weren’t expecting me, I must admit that my feelings were a little hurt. For today was the day that I had scheduled for you to pay back your debt to me. Do you remember when you borrowed my only begotten glams?”
“Yeah, but,” stammers Legion, “nothing was put down in writing, and no formal terms were discussed. You just said that you’d lend them to me, and that I could pay you back ‘whenever’ — that was the word you used: You were no more specific than that. And then we spat & shook hands to seal the deal. There was no quoting of Saint Paul’s first epistle to the Corinthians (16:20) ‘Seal ye every deal with an holy kiss’. No, you had no time for that. So I’m not confident that our ‘covenant’ here, as you call it, will even hold up in the Celestial Courtroom. And the only Judge of All Souls is our quote-unquote LANDLORD JEHOVAH, who can see straight into everyone’s heart — so he knows all your private thots, and even your gut instincts; cuz he has flying drones that spy on you, known as Guardian Angels, and some are tinier than viruses. (They cost us saints a pretty penny.)”
“Give me a moment,” I say; “—sorry, but I really have to pee.” Then I shut the door of the outhouse.
“That’s OK; take your time to think over what I just said,” shouts Legion, in an attempt to sympathize with my need to ‘pay my water bill’. “The drive over here,” continues Legion, “is a LOT longer than you’d expect. And we moderns tend to remain so thoroughly hydrated, it constitutes a miracle that we’re not perpetually in a state of wetting ourselves. You might have heard that, in olden times, it hath been recommended: ‘Thou shalt housebreak thy pets’. (And by that term ‘pets’ I think the author means ‘children’, cuz we placeholders are, each and all, someone else’s responsibility.) But I say unto you that, ideally, in a perfect world, all the runners, joggers, and pedestrians that we pass on the roadside should sport damp splotches on the front of their trousers. That’s why I envy the barnyard lifestyle: a goat or a lamb will simply relieve itself whenever it feels the need, right then and there — nobody cares. (What’s the big deal, anyway?) — Yet those glams that you invented: boy are they marvelous! Their digestive system is so efficient that they can take in water without having to pass it back out. Lo, they’re in debt to the oceans, even up to their eyeballs, but they don’t plan on paying! And they have such a great capacity for continence that the nourishment within them is never corrupted: so this retention of liquidity doesn’t ruin their interior organs — in fact, it only makes them stronger. Plus they rarely need reupholstering. Your glam species is thus an improvement on both of their source strains: they’re superior to goats, in that their evil is like a new form of good; and they beat the lamb of God by a longshot, since glams need not be sacrificed in order to bring about worldwide debt amnesty, which is to say: forgiveness of all sin…”
Here I emerge from the jakes. “Sorry, I couldn’t make out what you were saying — that’s a nice thick door you have on this outhouse; it seems virtually soundproof. And there are so many crickets inside that it’s like the opposite of a sensory deprivation chamber. That’s the loudest silence I’ve ever heard.”
“I was just explaining,” replies Legion, patiently, “how the glams have taught me an important Life Lesson.”
“Oh?” I say. “What’s that?”
“That you should waive my debt instead of repossessing your beasts. For the water of the ocean does not riverrun thru a glam’s bladder back into the ecosystem, to cycle mindlessly forever & ever. That’s the definition of insanity (‘repeating an act in expectation of sustainability’). No: all glams withhold their payment as well as any interest, and they sublimate the elements — instead of killing the host, they become what they behold. So rather than ending up as a sacrificial lamb or a scapegoat, the glam generates glitz. It’s like if we all were to die and go to heaven, and we found that not only humans were there but also all the dead household bondslaves and beasts of burden that we once were the master of; and not just them but every fetus that was ever aborted or stillborn also has its own mansion in Paradise. And the unborn zygotes as well as every ovum (whether it was discharged or brought to term) and all the spermatozoa that ever fertilized them or failed to break in (that is, this contract includes the sperm that never even made it — the ones that lost the race or just gave up and didn’t even try to scale the egg) — all these potential creatures are given a place amid the verdure in Eternity, alongside us realized careerists: we successful doctors, lawyers, farmers, and… I’m sorry, what is it that you do? I don’t think we ever discussed your official profession—”
“Experimental blaguer,” I say.
“Yes, OK… that too.” sez Legion. “So that’s what all these glitz here represent.” And he makes a motion with his arm indicating all the living beings now swarming the pasture, congesting the atmosphere even unto the vanishing point of the horizon.
“Fine,” I answer. “But as much as I enjoyed hearing you recite your ‘small-business poem’ here, I still have a debt that needs repaying. You owe me two glams: one glam & one female glamor-model, plus five percent of your glitz.”
Now Legion glances over at the great herd of glitz affronting the hilltop (for Bryan’s Farm was built on steep land that was mostly sand without any topsoil), and, after thinking for a moment, he sez:
“Give me a sec to merge my spirit into the glitz yonder — I just wanna transmogrify — that way I can enter into them and sidestep your financialization of everything.”
So I shout: “Why are you trying to tempt me? You know the rules as well as I: debts must be honored, or the innocent suffer. Haven’t you heard about the Gospel of Christ — how, to comply with the Justice of Moneta, the Creator himself had to pay back Mammon by signing over to him the copyright of the LORD’s firstborn demigod out of wedlock? This is serious stuff. Do you want me to enslave all your virgins and your wives? Cuz I’m not beyond doing that — I’m always in need of more revelers. Plus Halloween’s coming up, and I have a truckload of ‘French Maid’ costumes leftover from last year. None of them have even been worn yet; they’re still in their boxes.”
And Legion answers and sez: “No, I’m not trying to sneak away without paying you. I only aim to escape the wrath to come. For when a country refuses to engage periodically in a jubilee — that is, if they neglect to implement, at least every generation, some sort of general debt forgiveness — it is mathematically certain that all the wealth in that land will eventually be transferred to the fat-cats of the Tycoon Class — it’ll be vacuumed up to the tip of the pyramid — and the multitudes who make up the foundation of society will be squished into serfs: mere debt peons. I’m just trying to help myself to some of the fruits of my labors before I am exodus’d. I swear I’ll only rob back the spoils that you confiscated legally — the rest of your fortune I couldn’t touch, even if I wanted to: cuz I don’t know where you keep it.”
Thus, out of pity, I gave him leave to do as he said. “I will cosign,” I said. And I cosigned the contract granting him X shares of my Holy Spirit.
Let this be a lesson to me, for he ended up gaining a whole bunch of my future prisoners, which is to say: most of my workforce. Here’s the conclusion of the scam:
First he led me up to the top of the hill and posed on the highest ground of the farm; while I stood apart, alone. Then he transfigured himself before me: His raiment became shining, exceeding bright as snow; so as no detergent sold on the market could have whitened it. Then there appeared next to him: glam & female glamor-model; and they were talking with Mr. Legion. (I never taught them any language; so this is one of the things that I will instruct my clerks to account for, on next quarter’s paperwork, as an “improvement in property”.)
And now a cloud overshadowed them: and my own pre-recorded voice boomed out of the cloud, saying:
“Why hast thou buried thy talent? Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou knewest that I reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have not strawed: Thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the exchangers, and then I should have received mine own WITH USURY!!! — Otherwise, we end up with this farce where Paul persuades Peter to impoverish the People. — Therefore, take the talent from this loser, and give it unto him over here that was born with many talents. For it is written in the annals of holy precedent: ‘Unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.’ And, while you’re at it, take thine unprofitable servants with thee into the outer darkness. But separate the glams of this herdsman one from another, and divide them back into sheep and goats: and return them to me.”
Then, suddenly, when I looked round about, I saw no cloud any more, save Legion only with the thrillions of glitz, being raptured away. (Did I mention that their spawn are winged like cherubim?)
So everything worked out fine, cuz, if you look back at my security video, you’ll note that I created the first glam by fusing a goat with a lamb, and then I maximized my investment by squeezing a bonus beast out of its extra organ; then I lent out these two hybrids to a well-dressed entrepreneur whose business plan impressed me; and, just before the market closed, I ended up getting back four original copies: two goats and two sheep. And they all had the same style of blemish, so I made that my brand.
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