“Free at last!”, he thought and was taken to a waiting room where he sat, waiting, for half an hour. To be precise: 36 minutes and 52 seconds. He did not know whether that timing was irony or fate or both. Nobody told him. He did not ask. It was all new to him. It was a once in a lifetime thing. On the hour a shadow grew on the semi-transparent door whose milky appearance was being watched by five pairs of eager eyes. They had dropped in at irregular intervals and they had not said a word. Nor had he. Eyes had crossed from time to awkward time. Eyes had then been averted swiftly to stare at the milky door hoping to be free again from this torture of captivity.
The consultant’s door swung open and she said merrily: “I’m Hyacinth and I will be your coach. Thank the Ministry of Innovation.”, the way she said it included the capitalization. The Ministry was to be thanked so we murmured “tandeministrovation” – and she looked at us the way one looks at naughty children who still have a lot to learn. And we had, and only a limited time to learn it in, so “Come, come,” she said, “we have a lot of work to get through today.” We went meekly and took the places assigned to our names in the typical ministerial cleanroom, a spacious co-working place designed to stimulate creativity. I felt a little drab. “Chins up!”, she said, pointing to a whiteboard wall, “Here’s our plan for the rest of the day.”
I (knocks): Hey, Death, you there?
Dr. Death: Yeah, who there?
DrD: Ah, you again. What now?
I: Well I wanted to talk some about this notion of self-preservation. People seem to think it crucial stuff.
DrD: Philosophers you mean? My experience is people rarely think at all, maybe I just get them when they’re all thought out.
I: Yeah, well, philosophers I suppose. But don’t they supposedly voice what people think?
DrD: They suppose that they think like other people think. My experience falsifies that.
I: Ah, O-kay, I see. so maybe self-preservation is not such a common thought after all? Continue reading
“What cannot be said shortly, should not be said.”, well sums up our zeitgeist.
The spirit of rudeness is by now well entrenched. A lack of mores has become a wish rather than the woe it once was. Time is of the essence. We cannot afford to beat around the bush so we spin around the bonfire of the vanities vainly hoping to catch a quantum of eternity. There is never enough time so we spend time to buy time. It’s a free market after all.
“Cut to the chase!”, I hear my subconscious shouting. 100 words and close to nothing said. 7 more wasted and less than 500 to go. Reflection takes up space-time. It is a black hole. A singular type of anomaly. I am chasing the capitalism that cuts into our subconscious. It is hopeless of course to catch up with capitalism. We can only cut it off by self-reflection.
Just cut it out, already, like this:
Posted in JoB, Poetry
Tagged basic income, capitalism, cultural optimism, Deleuze, Guattari, Lafargue, Piketty, Rawls, right to be lazy, right to die, Socrates, Un PoCo PoMo, wealth tax
“Surfers must somehow support themselves.” J. Rawls, Justice as Fairness; a Restarement, p. 179, Harvard University Press 2001.
This is a bit of a cheap shot. I firmly believe Rawls provides us with the most nearly right political thought available as of now. But his cursory treatment of leisure time shows just how deep the preconception in favour of ‘hard work’ runs. It is a preconception that borders on the dogmatic. People have many rights but never the right to do as they please. It is as expected to ‘earn’ the respect of society by showing ‘merit’ as it is expected to want to live.
What I will want to do here is start to correct that issue and clean up Rawls’ conception from the consequences of this misconception. We will wind up re-discovering the principle of non-cooperation as underlying a society that is based on the ‘ideal of non-cooperation’, once non-cooperation is in its turn suitably cleansed from both individualist egoism and/or collectivist activism.