On the seventh day

Sunday morning, light, clear blue sky, coffee shop. Not at work. Freedom. This is all I want in life. A corner table at the third wave coffee shop where  I can write for an hour or two and then read a little. Watch people come and go. Let the hours melt away on our lord’s designated day of rest. Next week I’ll be working several doubles so I can visit home for a few days. Those doubles are brutal. It’s too much time on my feet, and it’s too much time spent confined to a slender strip of space, serving legions of lawyers, bankers, and suited, bespectacled, pencil skirted functionaries. New America is across the street, a left leaning think tank with the slick design and impressive roster of fellows, a small library of books about the  collusion between the US Government and private corporations to their credit. A bunch of Sinclair Lewis’s, untiring muckrakers, impassioned voices of conscience, people who have translated their talents into occupations that not only provide them with a comfortable living, but also serve a greater good. Speaking truth to power. Exposing corruption.

We know all about the corruption. It’s assumed, it’s a given. “Did you know that corporation X has been funneling cyanide into the water supply in poor African American communities for decades? Did you know that your education was a social engineering experiment designed to make you stupid and impulsive, bereft of morals, ignorant of history, fractured and dysfunctional, dependent on an ever expanding State and its remedial, custodial, and punitive institutions? What about the fact that the organizing principle of the entire world is the pursuit of profit to the detriment of biological life? How six people live Midas’s wet dream, shitting gold bricks in their unimaginably lavish mansions while millions huddle in mud huts, shivering, starving, grinding their knobby fingers to the bone working 14 hour days in unventilated factories making iPod components?” Oh yes, give me more, tell me more about how the human species is a virulent, parasitic, predatory organism that desecrates the earth and commits mass murder. Fill my ears with the sweet sounds of powerful men trading sex slaves and blackening the skies with coal dust. It’s still possible to live a semi comfortable life staring into the sun of human depravity, set against a background of the ultimate vanity of the universe, which exists for no reason whatsoever and will soon envelop all life in its smooth, velvet nothingness.

Alternatively, you could tell me more about how I’m a being of light, and of the pure joy and affirmation at the center of my expansive soul. Talk to me about manifesting my desires and realizing my true self, which is linked to the ultimate, everlasting creative power. There is no need for guilt, resentment, or fear because we are indestructible and pure. The pain that we feel, the isolation, the loneliness, the hatred and remorse; all illusions that we ourselves generate. It’s merely the surface of a bad dream, behind which lies the truth of unending goodness, beauty, and bliss. With just a few deep breaths, by standing back and clearing away the veil, I can reconnect with the source of life that sustains me, and I will remember that I have lived infinite lives before this one, and that death, which I comically fear as ultimate extinction, is merely a transition from one form of life to another. The atoms in my ballsack once circulated among the stars, and once my ballsack dissolves, to the stars they will return.

I need to get a new job. Maybe a couple of new jobs. My hospital bill finally came. It’s about 4500 dollars, and that’s after my insurance paid its share. I don’t know how I’ll live in the most expensive city in the US and pay back my bill making barista wages. Fight for fifteen I suppose. Or double up and get another low skill, low wage service industry job. That’s all I’m qualified to do, and I don’t even do it well. I still haven’t actually made a cappuccino that could be featured on instagram. Meanwhile all of the office and writing jobs require experience I don’t have; they demand unnecessary qualifications because too many cow people are now accredited. “We need you to have spent four years in an institution of higher learning that cost you a hundred thousand dollars to be qualified to schedule meetings, answer phones, and get coffee. Also you need to already have years of experience with the sort of task that a blind, retarded 12 year could handle immediately with no training to be considered for an interview, which will take place somewhere in the middle of the ten thousand interviews we will be conducting for people just like you, eager self starters on depression and anxiety meds.

I should have learned a trade. Electrician, plumber, hvac repairman. Truck driver or garbage man. Construction. Those jobs are in demand because no one wants to do them. Because men aren’t forced to work themselves to death doing the dirty, grueling, tedious, artery clogging, dangerous jobs that support the crystalline superstructure of enlightened feminists who write articles on the injustice of living in a patriarchy, about how triggering it is to hear a rape joke. Our entire culture is dominated by the widely celebrated and revered practice of rape, every man rapes his way to CEO status and wealth, except for the 92 percent of men that make up workplace deaths every year, except for the 79 percent of men that make up all deaths by suicide every year. But if they hadn’t been getting crushed by falling steel support beams or inhaling double barreled shotgun blasts, surely they would have been raping and patriarching. So it works out alright.

The job search must go on, but I’m going to enjoy the rest of this lovely, lackadaisical Sunday.

Author: The Empty Subject

Born curmudgeon

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