the initial currency for the costs of this class warfare appeared to be inner-city, lower class lives. it became clear later that the economic experiments being conducted here had spread all throughout the globe and infected all facets of life. the iran-contra scandal displayed the immense international reach of this purest greed ever conceived, a gigantic machine chewing whole countries up and spitting them out with a smile on its face and a wink in its eye. sons were selling out fathers and brothers, even mothers and sisters to get in on the fancy clothes, hard charging parties and sheer euphoria of seeing some number on a slip of paper from the broker get ever larger, convinced the consequences were inconsequential.
as a child in his formative years, i couldn't get over just how uninteresting it all appeared. how did so much money lead to so little taste? the clothes, the yachts, the hair, the golf courses, the jewelry, interviews with robin leach, it all screamed of an early retirement gone wrong, one of imaginations so starved in the pursuit of wealth that inspiration for how to spend newfound idle time came only from elderly grandparents. i had no interest in any of this, a life polished so clean that feathered pubic hair sounded plausible next to ass bleaching.
|Every Time I Tried to Windmill|