Otto Dix - Dance of Death 1917, 1924
I’ve wrote yesterday about some of my frustration and ambivalence about reading about the economy. Today, I can’t say that I did much less of it. I either have poor self-control, or some part of myself is attempting to send a message to the upper reaches of my brain. I had some thoughts while waiting for the subway at Broadway-Lafayette today about how I relate to the violence percolating through society at present.
These harsh conditions are not the result of market forces. The destruction happening now comes is the effect of decades of concerted violence inflicted upon ordinary people by evil men in government issue pajamas.
I attack myself for being poor, for being marginal, for not working harder, for not being cleverer and craftier. I feel ashamed for what I sense is a lack of accomplishment.
But really, I’m living in one of the most rapidly contracting economic environments in the country’s history, while I recover from a shattered childhood. It feels frustrating to me, especially to think about the business failures in the media industry, and how it is being portrayed by other writers. Furthermore, my opportunities continue to be constrained by the effects of violence on my environment.
I doubt that there is anything wrong with the advertising model. It can always be refined, of course. Less money is available, because the men in the government are using their guns to crowd out peaceful trade. Fear is spreading through the body politic, as a natural reaction to the violence, even if it is only understood subconsciously. When people feel afraid, and have less money, they are apt to spend less, read less, and become less interested in what advertisers have to sell them.
Yet, I know from experience that it is all too easy to take on false responsibility and guilt rather than to acknowledge the truth of our victim-hood. In most quarters, there is a rush to anything but the violence, to do anything to cover it up, to pretend that it never happened, and is not an ongoing crime.
I am finding it increasingly difficult to feel intellectual sympathy for those that would call for the very institution that murders children by the millions to somehow manage all human affairs with wisdom and kindness. I feel nauseated when I think about how it is considered to be a mark of culture and sophistication to support this vast destructive apparatus.
Speaking the truth saves lives. Lies provide cover for murder.
