Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Anger, Greed, Sloth
At night or around dusk and dawn, the City takes on a new life. It wears the cloak of artificial light bending and shaping the shadows into what they are not during the day.
For a brief time, it covers the unearthly sight of the downtrodden, polluted, neglected, corrupt and disastrously ugly monstrosities that line what once was pristine and beautiful marshes and coast line. They dot one’s view from an equally ugly and polluted and grotesque display of careless self-centered greed, lust and self-righteous sense of clouded self worth – the Interstate Highway.
For a moment or two I forget about all of this. I lose myself in the shades of oranges, greens, purples, reds and blends shimmering in the water punctuated by the occasional Bridgeport-Port Jefferson Ferry. I follow with my eyes the lines made from pipes, and massive steel tubes, brick structures and other means of belching rotting smoke and steam into the muggy night.
The night that no longer is ever dark.
I forget about all of this.
I forget about sitting in a restaraunt thinly disguised and a Call to Arms – a call for sloth, greed and wanton lust for food – for every 600 pound blob of fat. They sit there with handful of food oozing between their fat fingers. Fat rolls cover every part of their bloated bodies. The chair backs are on springs to accomodate these lecherous embarrasments of all things American.
As they pile empty plate after empty plate of of food into their mouths – elbows on the table, eating with their mouths open never stopping to breathe – they continue to shovel. The immense, repulsive skin-stretched whales attack the greasy mounds of 10,000′s of calories with the type of zealous furvour saved for pulling oneself from the frigid winter waters of a lake after falling through the ice.
It would seem that their main goal is to consume.
It seems that our main goal as a once-mighty Nation is to consume. And that we do with an appetite greater than my imagination and understanding of complex numbers allows me to understand.
Staggering.
I mind wanders away from my excessively childish, cripplingly self-centered, stupid, clot of a coworker whom I am trapped in a gas-guzzling mini van all day. My mind wanders away from the endless rubber-stamp corporate chains of everything from bike shops to restaurants to porn stores.
My mind wanders away from the lack of work and any sort of jobs paying a minimal living wage compared to the astronomical cost of living – and it’s rising at an exponential rate.
My mind wanders from that as I think about where I would rather be.
The constant feeling of agitation and the urge to drive a high-explosive-laden, stolen truck into every mall and shopping center recedes even for a moment.
I go back for a bit to my bike ride on Sunday morning through the misty pine and decidious forest in Trumbull and how at ease I was.
Calm. Relaxed.
I’m not an angry man nor am I jealous or greedy. But I can feel the negative energy or the lack of anything positive floating about.
It’s all fake.
It’s all corporate-owned.
We’re just the scapegoats.
We don’t count.
We’re for sale.
The ignorant among us are happy about this.
I think the Deadly Sin of Anger should be replaced with Ignorance.
HST the Champion of Anger
In a world full of proudly fat, self-serving, uneducated, lazy filth our departed Hero was a one-off. Too bad …
People are stupid. They want to believe that the moron they were fleeced into voting for is Honest and True and represents the American Values and American Way that our grandparents believed in. Of course those days are long gone.
The GOP is working on cutting the funding for NPR. In the eyes of some this is bad, in the eyes of others, this is awesome – get the government’s hand out of the last bastian of accurate information. Unless, of course the FCC decides to pull NPR’s license for being too “unAmerican”.
I imagine HST had Anger and Fury in his heart. In fact, I hope he was drunk on the power of it.
In these Strange and Ugly times, it’s good to step away from the Circus – away from the isolated, corporate-sponsored, oil and plastic laden lives we lead and take a look at what is happening.
Why aren’t more of us like HST?
