I snapped a photo of the sunrise this morning, it was so beautiful.
Dear diary,
I’m surprised at humankind’s ability to adapt. Here in the U.S., we have the only style of government that is worse than mob rule — and that is mobster rule. Thus, during a pandemic we must undergo an indefinite quarantine: we’re all told to stay at home and don’t leave for any reason. This is supposed to stop the spread of the disease. Yet those who could be working to reorder society in a way that would allow it to continue its most basic functioning have no incentive to do so (and every incentive not to), so we all just remain, week after week, trapped in our apartments. And I’m amazed at the human ability to bear this fresh hell:
I asked certain friends, after the first fortnight of lockdown, how they were coping, and they seemed on the brink of collapse; but now, a few months into it, instead of having melted into a puddle of nerves on the floor, or slaying their roommates, these same friends who seemed borderline psychotic aforetime are now accepting their situation cheerfully.
I ask myself how could this be, and my best guess is that, when it comes to daily life, people place a higher value on normalcy than morality — thus, as long as the badness is constant and predictable, humans will work it into their schedule and slouch toward repose.
This is also the reason that the current debt-based system will never perish. Everyone keeps talking about “late stage capitalism” and “the death of neoliberalism”, as if ubiquitous financialization is not the primum mobile. What’ll happen is not that this Gilded Age will yield to the birth of “liberty! democracy! fraternity! equality!” but that, even if the last human profiteers expire in agony while clutching a big wad of banknotes to their heart, the living creatures that survive us will inherit our addiction. — Walt Whitman writes in “Song of Myself” [32]:
...animals are so placid and self-contain’d… not one is demented with the mania of owning things…
Well, get ready to be shocked and aghast, Walt — wherever you are, I hope you’re sitting down when I tell you this news: The animals will to learn how to work our great Pyramid Scheme, and they’ll take it over. With their hooves (or paws) following in our footsteps, they’ll seize the reins of this economy. And, just as we did, they will employ it to enslave themselves. They’ll continue the dream.
Good for them: I won’t make this entry into another lamentation. Let the lion use his purse to purchase lamb-burgers from the grocery store owned by the bull. More power to them.
*
I think that everything’s far simpler than we dare to admit. People are worrying that this current catastrophe is going to bring about massive unemployment and starvation. Let me solve these problems for the world:
First of all, unemployment is not a bad thing: it’s a good thing. For, recall, if you will, how much you hate your job. Also consider that the word “unemployed” means “devoid of a boss”. Most people weep like they lost the race when they lose their job, but isn’t this more like being the first one to cross the finish line?
However, yes, I understand the concern: for if you don’t have a job, then you don’t get a paycheck. But doesn’t everything come down to people, after all? I mean: even if you need to hand over a portion of your cash to the clerk at the store to purchase your lamb-burgers, the fact of being penniless doesn’t bar you from striking a substitute deal with that clerk. Think about it: the guy’s a goat, working in a franchise owned by a bull. Do you really think he’s not going to be open to alternate methods of payment? He doesn’t give a fig whether the bull makes his profit. Perhaps the goat has a goatling at home who needs reliable daycare. You could offer to watch his goatling in exchange for these lamb-burgers. Then all you’d need to do is keep repeating to yourself, while you sit on the bench watching the clerk’s goatling gambol around at the park: “Do NOT consume your client’s offspring.” For he is the firstborn of the goat-clerk, who perhaps will prove to be the salvation of this world — like some sort of scapegoat.
Yet one user with an obscenity for a name has posted a text message in this entry’s Live Chatroom, arguing:
“You can’t exchange services with the employees of an establishment in return for foodstuffs, because the bull who owns the market always counts the amount of U.S. dollars in each employee’s cash register, at the end of their work-shift; and he checks this total against that day’s receipts. So, even if you managed to control your appetite long enough to avoid devouring the clerk’s only begotten kid (goatlings are savory with horseradish, by the way), the bull would just fire him out on his ear — which is to say: the goat would get terminated — and you’d need to develop a similarly underhanded relationship with the beast who replaces him — and that’s hard work, which happens to be the very thing you’re trying to avoid: Don’t implement a cure that’s worse than the illness.”
As usual, my heckler has a point. So I guess I’ll scratch that plan. Now it’s back to the drawing board…
*
After further contemplation, I must admit: it really does suck to lose your source of income. And this money system is a nuisance. Cuz there’s no way to get food now. In the olden days, we’d just roam in the meadow until we found a weaker being, and simply bite them with our jaw. Blood would gush everywhere, and the juices from the meat would drip down one’s chin… one’s claws would automatically spring out like pushbutton-ejector knives, also known as switch-blades, and one would tear at the pelt of one’s prey to discover more meat. One would eat one’s meals raw, near a side-table of various dipping-sauces.
And wherever we and our friends desired to saunter, all other creatures would flee in fear, cuz they knew that we were the natural kings of the jungle. Life basically consisted of all the fun aspects of free enterprise, without all the tedious aspects of free enterprise.
I really liked life, back in those days. But admittedly that’s because I was one of the winners. For, after being born a loser once or twice, I began to note how much I actually dislike predators. It really does depend on which side of the evil you’re on. If you’re the one poised to pounce on the picnic of an opponent, then being the aggressor doesn’t feel too bad. It definitely has its perks. — Yet I’ll never forget the feeling I had when, one midsummer night, I got born from out of the uterus of a gazelle; & the first sight I saw, when I blinked about, is that my mom and I were encircled by vicious lions. And they sprang ravening toward me (I wasn’t even fifteen minutes old yet!) and ate me up. I’ll carry that remembrance with me forever; even thru endless rebirths. For anxiety is the memory of the oversoul.
*
That last sentence seems like it’s trying too hard to sound wise, thus it strikes me as maudlin; so I wanna keep writing, to distance myself from my misstep, to obscure my failure…
*
What would you like to talk about now? I’m taking requests.
Hmm… apparently no one’s tuned in, at present. (I do record this claptrap fairly early.) — Maybe I’ll reach into the mailbag and answer some of your questions…
Q&A
This first question’s from Toto in Kansas. He or she sez:
“Hey Bry, I like your journal, but it needs more spice. Could you spice it up a little? Thanx!”
Alright, well maybe just take that above scene where the pride of lions ambushes the newborn, but swap out a chorus of dancing girls for the felines, and replace the gazelle with a seasoned warrior. That way, the ladies can love him to death. How’s that for spice, Toto? I hope you’re satisfied.
*
I’ll only do one more, cuz I realize how stupid this idea was; & now I’m dying to get offstage, so…
This next question’s from Mary X of Nazareth, Philadelphia. She sez:
“This thing I gave birth to — what is it? And when will it be safe to worship it?”
Mary, I want you to listen very closely to what I say here, cuz this problem is widespread in the modern world, and I believe that I have the solution. If you’re pregnant, that means trouble. Therefore, touch no man: not even the LORD himself. For touching always leads to petting, which grows heavier until it reaches the stage of commingling: Yes, soon you’ve fallen upon the heap of silken shirts in the laundry room, in full embrace, and the priest is entering by way of the secret place pompously: for it is the Holy of Holies. I diagnose you with being a standard teen pregnancy that occurred out of wedlock. This shall require an abortion (read: late-term sacrifice). Now here’s my advice: First, claim that God did it. Lastly, snip the savior’s swaddling clothes with scissors: this will expose the innards of the deity. Use the same shears to pierce the lad’s vitals. Forthwith shall come out a mix of blood and water. As it is written:
This is he that came by water & blood, even Christ Jesus; not by water only, but by water & blood. And it is the spirit that beareth witness, because the spirit is truth. For there are three that bear record in heaven: the Father, the Word, & the Spirit; and these three are one. And there are three that bear witness on earth: the Lifebreath, the Water, & the Blood; and these three agree in one. (I John, 5:6-8)
Did you see what I did there, Mary? I made reference to the finale of David Lynch’s Eraserhead (1977) and used it to prove that the “son” persona in the Holy Trinity is no physical issue but in fact a written “Word” A.K.A. the comment uttered mentally by your spirit which got itself born into our mailbag (“text”, “word”, & “scripture” are all synonymous & equally God-breathed; see II Timothy 3:16 “Even live-chat messages are sent via divine inspiration”). In conclusion, as the Marilyn-Monroe impersonating angel sings in the aforesaid film:
In heaven, everything is fine.
Also note that she delivers the above threat from inside of a radiator while stepping on serpent-seed.
And the LORD God said unto the serpent, “Because thou hast done this, thou art cursed above all golden bulls, and every king of the jungle. Thus I will put enmity between thee & thy woman, & between thy seed & hers; thou shalt fall from on high & land at her heel, & her high heel shall squish thy head.” (Genesis 3:14-15)
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