Paperback Typer

So this is great practice for myself. I am lost. I am here but I am in search of something more. Something else, something that has meaning. Must all my meaning only be found in the inspiration of song? There is no guidance, there is no assurance, there is barely a compass showing us the way. We dredge on not knowing of our future but do any of us? The captain is shroud in mystery, his whereabouts purposely unknown, untold. Deal with this, and this and this, as I leave it last minute for you to complete thanks to the tequila twist. I'm in a whirlwind trying to find a spot to fit in, story of my life - where shall I begin? Sounds of nostalgia and disco breaks set the tempo to these nimble fingers attempting to create something out of nothing. There is no methodology here, in fact there was barely a thought put forward to bring about these actions. I was led here by my fingers and all I can do now is follow until I break free to the beat of a new direction.

I put these digits aside and somehow they awake again and flow back into their arched position attempting to create. They move with lightening speed yet they are void of any true thought, a thought that I should take solace in but somehow the peacefulness of nothingness leaves me with feelings of emptiness. Life's true work just can't be found in this limiting structure, in these walls of uncertainty nor in the margins of profit and loss. I read your thoughts of familial experience, the experience of true meaning of which I agree but still within this system it too is left with very little time in comparison. So dream fingers, dream on and find that kwan, the kwan of mixing career with love. A pipe dream as we may have all lost sight of the truth, our true connection to mother earth. A connection we have worked decades to lose. So my words hand off the baton to Kalle Hasn from Adbusters magazine.

~ That pretty well sums up the way most of us in the affluent West feel about global warming: we’re ready to make small sacrifices, change our light bulbs, our cars and even our leaders, but our culture – the American way of life – is not negotiable.

That’s too bad, because our consumer culture is the primary cause of our ecological crisis. Since WWII, our consumption levels have grown by 300 percent and in the process we’ve developed enormous footprints, insatiable appetites and a boundless sense of entitlement. There’s something degenerate now at the very heart of our culture, and fixing it won’t be easy. We’ll have to confront the fact that we do not have the right to emit carbon into the atmosphere at a much higher rate than everyone else on Earth. And then we’ll have to rethink many aspects of our lives: the way we eat, work, get around, shop, entertain ourselves, raise our children and think about freedom and the responsibilities that come with it.


That kind of cultural transformation will be pretty hard to pull off and it may take more apocalyptic eco-news, more Virginia Techs, kids on Ritalin, more military strikes and terrorists who hate us and maybe a global economic crash before we get serious.

But there’s also an upside to all this: we’re in the endgame now – all six-and-a-half billion of us living through one of the wildest, most lunatic moments in human history, working our way towards an enthralling collective climax. Will it be a dog-eat-dog bloodbath, or a more erotic, consensual kind of climax in which we work it out together? For awhile longer, the choice remains ours. ~