(no subject)
It was all laid out there in the Von's book aisle.
All shitty books designed for one-note playing on the emotions. First, thrillers of various kinds-- legal, medical, familial, technological, a terror for every mundane aspect of your life.
Then there were the self-help books: two-bit easy spirituality, the promises of effortless fulfillment and prosperity. And the romance novels, eternally recreating the moment before the first thrust, the dream of perfect, characterless passion.
Fear and hope. Fear and hope. Fear and hope.
Here is a culture that runs on two emotions, a money engine with a simple push-pull, a pounding mechanism that fucks you in the ass. Here it is, all right next to the magazines in the grocery store.
I wonder if there are people who only experience the world in two flavors. People that serve nothing but their own terrified biology, yoked to the cultural wheel.
I wonder if I'm one of them.
All shitty books designed for one-note playing on the emotions. First, thrillers of various kinds-- legal, medical, familial, technological, a terror for every mundane aspect of your life.
Then there were the self-help books: two-bit easy spirituality, the promises of effortless fulfillment and prosperity. And the romance novels, eternally recreating the moment before the first thrust, the dream of perfect, characterless passion.
Fear and hope. Fear and hope. Fear and hope.
Here is a culture that runs on two emotions, a money engine with a simple push-pull, a pounding mechanism that fucks you in the ass. Here it is, all right next to the magazines in the grocery store.
I wonder if there are people who only experience the world in two flavors. People that serve nothing but their own terrified biology, yoked to the cultural wheel.
I wonder if I'm one of them.