Tuesday, 23 November 2010

Come to you as an Irrational being

They sicken of the calm,
who knew the storm.
We can only liberate ourselves,
Or enslave others.

You come to me
On bended knee
Just as a flea
With your money
and your key

Renaissance in Reverse

Liberal economics are based on the industrial work-ethic revolution, which is a post-feudal state of affairs.  We use liberal economics but live not so much in an industrial society but on an industrial globe, industry interests and the conditions are their workforces now very largely elsewhere.  (In Europe,  all our quality industry is in a medieval or at best, reverse-Renaissance state.)  Therefore theres a massive imbalance within this country, this society which can't be plastered over by the market economic theories of Keynes, nor even the more radical reactions of Schumpeter.  Mistake ye not, this is a post-industrial culture and we're only beginning to theorize what that means. 

Do we find a new medieval idyll ?  We have to treat technology with contempt, or become slave to its death-culture.  Regarding the death, we aren't merley talking about its application in drone war, but its 
primary deception;  it mirrors real life while actually being on the contrary, an unsentient machine which has chain-ganged us into being stokers to its ever growing engine rooms.  (we built it to serve us, now we serve it, because its now infinitely seductive in, and of, itself).  Never mind its pervasiveness - into our private time and how that reconfigures our ability to perceive objectively.
A computer began by being a machine with an end.  Now its multi-functionality supersedes and transcends its utility.

Ox on the run

Oxford university aint what it used to be....blue cheese for gus...chives for relish....beach house in Aquataine...two-year Imperators, gargantuan decline in a song of slop, a final slop song....what next - cocaine in the libraries?  dry days at the top, the dusky apogee....
dog days for mcdooley...the whole mass shanty song mirrored in metered shards of my own soul....my own heart street beat...sauntering
through the gentrifical fugues...unable to outrun the banal tide...
Fat bastards with old yellow masters...recess is the goal of american high schools, why wouldn't it seep onto everywhere else?  are you a mouse or are you emperor...shunting off proper scally schools, makeshifts for the middlebreaths...Breathe cheaper air here....skull and bone crotch...working for me? or working for the ewes ?....irrational hours maketh the man.

Croque to Qwim
moochers on the run...crystal chessboards on sale...boneheads of biloxi...happy hour at the Greased Owl...infantile but mediocre style...all presidents and premiers now inching toward their thirties...new psued class war, watch the middletons scatter either which way...at least Cromwell was man enough to stick his head up...William Cromwell, Olive the Conqueror...one bastard, one patricide.


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