-Chapter One-
Frank struggled to open his eyes. The whole world was a tiny voice chanting 'Frank... Frank... Wake up, Frank... Frank... Wake up.' after a while he realized the voice was his own, grabbed it, and held on. Then his whole world became his voice chanting, and himself holding onto it. Time passed, and he eventually became aware that he could feel things. Weight. Lethargy. Below him was rough fabric, but the fabric above him was soft. He had arms and legs. Eventually he discovered eyes.
'Frank... Frank... Wake up, Frank... Frank... Wake up.'
He opened his eyes. He was lying face down on a couch. A few minutes passed before he realized that he'd migrated down stairs in search of a softer sleeping arrangment after giving up on his bed.
The clock in the living room read fifteen to eight. The clock on the computer read nine forty. Frank was a bit shocked to learn that one way or another he had managed to sleep for fourteen hours, and still didn't feel particularly bubbly or refreshed. He pondered this for a moment before deciding that the only conceivable solution involved donuts, orange juice, and a shower, in that order.
It is noon fifteen. Frank can feel his motivation to do anything slowly leaking out of his ears. The world outside is vaguely grain, and threateningly wet. A few minutes ago lightning struck the same place at least seven times over a period of seconds, bolt after bolt tracing an identical path through the sky.
-Later-
'I'm going to go for a walk, return some movies.'
'No, it's still coming down.'
'Okay. I should be back in a few hours. Until then.'
And he set off into the rain.
-Chapter One-
-Subsection One-
-On Predatory Individuality-
People have been sold Individuality as the thing to be. Unfortunately they have become so individual that they have found themselves alone, with only the Machine to turn to. So instead of becoming individuals and remaining individuals through the mutual support of other individuals they find themselves forced to sell themselves to the Machine in the face of routine hardship.
Anyone who becomes seriously ill is made a slave to the machine through hospitals and insurance. Anyone who wishes to drive is again faced with insurance, licensing, and maintenance. Housing is problematic, long distance travel is problematic, and if work is scarce then food can become a real and immediate concern. People have become so individual that they have no family or tribal support structure to fall back on. The young, successful middle class couple quickly becomes shackled with a mortgage, insurance costs, the cost of children, all in their attempt to become an independent economic unit.
My thought is that individualism has gone too far, and has destroyed the family. Not the ridiculous image of the glowing 1950's family portrayed by various organizations, but the more primal family as an social group that can be relied on for support in times of need. The old watch the young while the mature work to feed both. The young learn from the old and the mature. The old are kept company by the young and the mature. No body is left alone.
Frank struggled to open his eyes. The whole world was a tiny voice chanting 'Frank... Frank... Wake up, Frank... Frank... Wake up.' after a while he realized the voice was his own, grabbed it, and held on. Then his whole world became his voice chanting, and himself holding onto it. Time passed, and he eventually became aware that he could feel things. Weight. Lethargy. Below him was rough fabric, but the fabric above him was soft. He had arms and legs. Eventually he discovered eyes.
'Frank... Frank... Wake up, Frank... Frank... Wake up.'
He opened his eyes. He was lying face down on a couch. A few minutes passed before he realized that he'd migrated down stairs in search of a softer sleeping arrangment after giving up on his bed.
The clock in the living room read fifteen to eight. The clock on the computer read nine forty. Frank was a bit shocked to learn that one way or another he had managed to sleep for fourteen hours, and still didn't feel particularly bubbly or refreshed. He pondered this for a moment before deciding that the only conceivable solution involved donuts, orange juice, and a shower, in that order.
It is noon fifteen. Frank can feel his motivation to do anything slowly leaking out of his ears. The world outside is vaguely grain, and threateningly wet. A few minutes ago lightning struck the same place at least seven times over a period of seconds, bolt after bolt tracing an identical path through the sky.
-Later-
'I'm going to go for a walk, return some movies.'
'No, it's still coming down.'
'Okay. I should be back in a few hours. Until then.'
And he set off into the rain.
-Chapter One-
-Subsection One-
-On Predatory Individuality-
People have been sold Individuality as the thing to be. Unfortunately they have become so individual that they have found themselves alone, with only the Machine to turn to. So instead of becoming individuals and remaining individuals through the mutual support of other individuals they find themselves forced to sell themselves to the Machine in the face of routine hardship.
Anyone who becomes seriously ill is made a slave to the machine through hospitals and insurance. Anyone who wishes to drive is again faced with insurance, licensing, and maintenance. Housing is problematic, long distance travel is problematic, and if work is scarce then food can become a real and immediate concern. People have become so individual that they have no family or tribal support structure to fall back on. The young, successful middle class couple quickly becomes shackled with a mortgage, insurance costs, the cost of children, all in their attempt to become an independent economic unit.
My thought is that individualism has gone too far, and has destroyed the family. Not the ridiculous image of the glowing 1950's family portrayed by various organizations, but the more primal family as an social group that can be relied on for support in times of need. The old watch the young while the mature work to feed both. The young learn from the old and the mature. The old are kept company by the young and the mature. No body is left alone.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
parks:
he's my littlest brother
starfior:
VIKING CAMP REQUIRES MORE FISH!!