Go...read!

http://thomaspainescorner.wordpress.com/2009/03/14/only-in-america-could-misery-be-turned-into-a-commodity/

Bitter Ghosts

Deep within the depths of my psyche lies a strange and mostly untold longing…at times I can describe it as a longing for perfection, sometimes for transcendence or for deep understanding, for peace, for solitude for friendship, for love or for forgiveness. I see this garden of wasted things in the stories told by the lines on people’s faces, the stories told by the unseen reams of project reports and evaluations stacked up in vast lifeless file rooms; experts spewing forth exactitudes in chorus decrying obvious patterns of inefficiency and imposing radical compliance to a miraculous new order; good folk cranking out political strategy which is ultimately of no greater value than self imposed exile, the hell we create for ourselves, the hell we choose therefore to live in.

Humanity must find better social devises which are less insidiously destructive of fundamental values.

Magpie is my way of building personal guideposts to to direct the support of a multidimensional balance of human life; guideposts which can serve as a framework for evaluating the parameters of human endeavors within which human life remains viable.

Society can be destroyed - becoming a garden of wasted things - when it extinguishes the free use of natural ability when it people are isolated from each other and locked into a man-made shell, when the texture of community is undermined by promoting extreme social polarization and splintering specialization, or when cancerous acceleration enforces social change at a rate that rules out legal, cultural, and political precedents as formal guidelines to present behaviour. Corporate endeavors which thus threaten society cannot be tolerated. At this point it becomes irrelevant whether an enterprise is nominally owned by individuals, corporations, or the slate, because no form of management can make such fundamental destruction serve a social purpose.

The Magpie

The Magpie

By Robert S. Warshow, '33

I walked one day
In the Garden of Wasted Things,
And there I found
The bitter ghosts of all that had been spent unwisely,
Or lost through brutal circumstance.

I found the childhood
That some labourer's child had never known;
I found the youth that some young man had squandered;
There I found some poet's genius
That had gone unrecognised.

I saw the ghosts of idle words,
And small talk,
That men had used to waste away the hours.

I saw the hopes that had been smothered,
And all the dreams
That never had come true,
And Laughter that had died for lack of bread.

I met with all the lives that had been misdirected,
And spoke with dreary shades
Of loves that might have been,
And songs that never had been sung.

I met with all these ghosts,
And many more;
And each of them
Sat silently in the shadows,
Brooding over quirks of mad Creation,
And puppets' dreams.

Lets me rephrase that

Loss of Perception: Acquisition of apathy...(cont)

CHAPTER 2: let me rephrase that

So perhaps what fulfills me is the sense of nothingness – so therefore fulfillment is the acquisition of a state of being absolutely devoid of feeling – devoid of the feeling associated with the pursuing of lofty goals.

The loss of perception… the acquisition of apathy

(ramblings from a previous version of my brain)

CHAPTER 1: Seeking a fulfilling life is an absolute and complete waste of time.

Sitting slouched over my superego I perch ripe for the taking of my own life. Not by any typical manner, but by the slow and stealthy complexity of an unfulfilled but arrogant perception of life.

Writhing with contempt for the stupor of glad overtures by the minions of stupid humans groping their way toward Godly happiness; merely an undeserving ennui gained not by healthy indulgence and savoring of epicurean delight or fascination of spontaneous virtue, but like sheep to the slaughter – gleeful for no other reason than that exemplified by pursuance of and success in embracing the popular path. Weak lives framed by the myopia of the over-simplification of right and wrong.

And so it begins

I have a foreboding sense that my entry into the blogosphere via a Google tool is condemning me to the pits of privacy hell...exposing myself to the microchip in the brain path...big brother is monitoring every fart and burp...well, so B it...monitor away you single synapse morons if you must...at this point I've ingested enough of your fluoride and your Bisphenol A that I'm pretty much hooped anyway...

...and so I begin to craw my way out of the abyss...