Every monday morning I read the new blog posts by Chris Hedges and James Howard Kunstler.
I think after reading them, about people, and that Americans might like corporations. Everyday I hear people talking about brands of cell phones, brands of clothes, brands of televisions, brands brands brands.
At times I feel like a brand.
Maybe it is ugly. Maybe humans weren't meant for better.
A 1000 years ago in 1011 people were convinced that the Catholic Church was awesome, that kings and queens were awesome, and people lived like that for a very long time.
People in 1011 were fine with believing in God and the Catholic church, and having a king.
They didn't mind.
They don't mind buying droids and iphones and MACS and Pepsi now.
Kerouac had this strange view of humans, it was like, "Well, people aren't that great, but a lot of them are funny, they do endearing things, they live they suffer, everyone knows somebody that died, just go with it."
To take on a kerouac voice:
Oh if it all collapses, the Buddha will be keeping his hand on his belly, ocean waves will keep splashing on shores, women will keep yelling at their men, the children will play with broomsticks instead of plastic toys made from the hands of Chinamen thinking their Confuciusian thoughts, old women will keep demanding love and tenderness from their beleagered sons. Young puberty stricken boys with dried cum on their palms will still talk about the girls, legs and pretty faces, the girls will giggle and do their little dances, men will find drums and beat them beat beat dum. Old men will have their stories and the young will be making theirs. Living rooms will still need to be cleaned, cats will need to be fed, the dogs walked, the food cooked, sizzle sizzle of the frying pan at dinner time. People will find time to make love if it be on a rock or in a bed, soldiers will wear their uniforms and the poets will wear their uniforms and the politicians will wear their uniforms, you will still grow old with tatters of age, hair grey and booze in the tummy, visions of past kicks with a few kicks left to grab from the living breathing night, and the shoeless Jesus will be laughing, and you will laugh with him. And each baby will still have to be carried knowing one day it ends in death.