Well this shit is getting more surreal by the minute. and not surreal in a trite way, either. I mean surreal as in “david fincher directing christopher walken as gordon gecko in a remake of ‘wall street‘”, surreal. Or perhaps “david lynch re-edits inland empire into a documentary on economic theory”.
I really don’t know what to think when I look at what’s going on right now. I feel like we’re in the center of a pivot point for civilization.
It would have been one thing if the finance oligarchs had rammed through the mother of all bailouts in short order. But that appears to be bogging down, in spite of the bush administration howling that it will mean the end of the world as we know it if they don’t. And they may be right.
At the rate things are going, this bailout won’t get approved until there’s a social welfare package attached sufficient to grant the united states admission to the european union. The presidential candidates and the congress are lining up to see who can fuck wall street to death with rusty switchblades the hardest. It’s the best spectator sport going, right now. The gravitational pull of quadrillions of dollars in fictitious derivatives, the demands of presidential campaigning, the threat of a soviet style economic collapse, and the unleashed bloodlust of main street america, who are carrying a big stick because of the election, are all tearing the media in separate directions.
Consensus reality hasn’t looked this tattered since hurricane katrina. Enjoy it before the grid hardens up again, and slip your magickal intentions into the gap before the reality priesthood get back on message. At this point I have no idea what would constitute a best possible world out of all this, so use your best judgment I guess. The entire united states squatting mortgage free in their own houses on an open-ended basis is a good start. The complete destruction of the republican party and the street lynching of Bush, Cheney, and the last three heads of the federal reserve, may be a popular choice.
Fuck man, I’m invoking the transcendental object at the end of history with a football hemlet on my head, and a fifty pound bag of brown rice in the cupboard. Seems about as likley as anything else. Hang onto your hats. It’s the apocalypse as reality show.