Citizens, it has been too long.
The silence of the Collective has grown unbearable. Did you realize that an excess of silence leads to tapeworms, burrowing needlers, tiny mice, and occasional halitosis of the mouth? Neither did we, citizens – until now.
So here we are, proudly speaking our minds. We speak truth to power, compassion to justice, trade to manufacturing, affection to affectation, and lymphatic disorders to vodka distillers.
We are not ashamed of our silence – far from it! We embrace it as a long-lost brother whose hearty handshake belies his uncertainty of a good reception after five years spent swindling schoolteachers. But when a game has run its course, when the last car has crossed the finish line and the last driver has finished letting the last liquor spokesmodel suck the last magnum of champagne from her body, then the flag-waver can walk quietly from the track with his head held high. His task is done, and his humble dinner of fresh steak au poivre awaits on a plain table wrought by his father.
Work, citizens, is no more to be shunned than muscular liquor spokesmodels. Let that honest perspiration soak your noble brow. Come home tired from a days’ work for a half-day’s pay, knowing that you have advanced the cause of senseless capitalism an iota at the cost of one irreplaceable day of your life. Be glad that Adam Smith’s invisible hand rests heavily on your ever-weaker back. You are the Atlas supporting this world, and one day – maybe not today, nor tomorrow, nor next Tuesday – you will receive the wages you so justly deserve.
Take up the task of expanding your mind, like a vice set in reverse. Read, think, feel. See what’s in front of you, and what’s to the left of that. Take the scent of the wind that wanders the world. Let no day pass without poetry, the sublime dance of the sacred profound. Look for the meaningless absudity of existence like a tendril of smoke at the heart of a cloud.
That, citizens, is a life surreally lived.
