The Life Dreamt Of

What, exactly, would be a better life than this?

You could pull out all the appeals and insist there’s something better than this. You could. I’m sure you would. But do you yourself believe it?

We could suppose there may be a belief… seeing as you’re chortling along in your work and, hopefully not completely nihilistic. Hopefully you think there’s a larger schematic.

But perhaps you, too, do not buy into anything. There is nothing to buy. There is no one behind the credit card swiping, nor grabbing the receipt: there isn’t anyone to dress up, or down, or there doesn’t seem to be any reason to have clothes.

Where is one supposed to go from here? Perhaps having fifty million dollars may make things better. Though one could argue it’d make things worse, as the tentacles of wealth management and the inert mode of existence where everyone else builds everything for you, cooks everything for you, well, after you get bored enough roleplaying as Something Important the grooves ordained by Genesis may wish for a change.

Perhaps you wish for more power… ah, you see the real games now! If you gather enough influence, well, look at you steering civilization. Electing genocide or profileration, and with enough lockstep of technological dominance you’ll have designer babies rubber-stamped in the DNA as your guards, as your progeny for the next thousand years.

Though perhaps the entire world is an empire of dirt.

If God could grant a wish it’s the same whether with fifty million or fifty in the backpocket: an empty mind and something to work on.

Those who can consume all day, it’s commendable. Hard to fathom.

But maybe one day you, too, will reach the end. Here’s the lobby. There are no movies here, nor music, malls and holidays’ promise. The same balcony, and the soundproof main room, with the default stock from Ikea because whether marble or chic it achieves the same.

Stare at your monitor, why don’t you. What else is there to be?