Magicians

It is the morning after the greatest distraction on Earth. Yes, I did allow myself to be absorbed by the television, and thus further reminded of how great America is. I wonder how many lives this juggernaut erased while its citizens stared in awe at those magic screens as they glowed red, white and blue.

This morning, I sit in my bedroom, alone with a thousand and one simultaneous thoughts, only shortly after spending an hour clearing my mind through breathing and meditation. As I prepare to head to campus to print out a paper and machete my way through more reading, I wonder if returning to school was the right decision, if, having been too eager to break free of the shackles of cubicle life under a multinational banner, I was deluding myself into believing a light to exist at the end of this tunnel. I wonder if I'll ever find work again. I wonder if I'll be of any use to society, or if I'm simply not meant for it.

I think about the ongoing discussions I've had with the self-professed Trotskyists, and suddenly I'm filled with doubt and worry. Do these people have the solution to what ails us, as they claim? Are they interested in listening to what I have to say, or are they simply recruiting me for their respective flocks? Do they think I'm an idiot in need of their divine guidance? Am I an idiot?

I think about Charles Darwin and his Natural Selection theory, and wonder if I'm fit for survival in this society. I've always been terrible at finding a job or a mate; now, I wonder if this is such a bad thing. If I can't hold my head above water in this world, should I really be procreating? Should I even strive for anything in life? Did something misfire in the process of my creation, rendering me fit for the back-room rejection pile?

I think about the economy, and wonder how many people are listening. I don't suppose they can when their overlords are scrambling to appease them: "Everything will be fine", I hear them say; "No reason to worry, folks. Return to your dead-end jobs and your endless consumption. We'll handle the rest." During one of my marijuana-induced mental roller-coaster rides way back in November 2006 - I have since renounced such practice in favour of restoring my lung capacity and mitigating my tension headaches, among other reasons - I wrote a piece outlining, from a system analysis perspective, the collapse of free-market capitalism. Perhaps my interpretation was correct; perhaps not. I wonder, though, if, in a few months' or years' time, we'll still have our home, or if our parents will still have theirs.

I wonder if the magicians in charge ponder the consequences of their actions, or if they even care: they seem to be keen on making fantasy appear on our glowing screens, in our printed word, in our heads; while simultaneously making money and power appear in their pockets. I wonder if we'll ever weave magic of our own to rid ourselves of this sorcery, or be forever resigned to it, counting the days until mortality's magic hand resuces us.

I wonder if the magicians botched the potion they used to create me.