Aesthetic Materialism

The purpose of government today is inflation.  That is why it exists.  Capitalism is inherently deflationary.  It tends toward a crisis of values.  In a (hypothetical) perfect capitalist economy, prices would deflate all the way to zero.  The result would be a tremendous crisis - the word "recession" does not cover it - a cataclysmic depression, the likes of which the world has never seen.  Realistically, prices would be unstable, with some prices spiraling into negative territory, and others skyrocketing - to say nothing of the prices of purely financial instruments, including money itself, which is one of the things that would eventually become worthless, but which might fluctuate wildly beforehand.  We almost had a little taste of something like such a moment at the advent of the Great Depression, but it was heavily muffled and mediated. Government's purpose in the 21st century is to prevent that, by artificially propping up prices - that is, artifi...

  Start at the Beginning Previous Chapter: Day 1 Part 7 In the evening sun, the silhouette of a man briskly, deliberately climbs a stool beneath a tree and places a noose around his own neck.  Then he kicks the stool away and hangs, swinging, his body jerking involuntarily.  The spasms become more exaggerated and the swings become wilder, and suddenly the rope snaps and man falls headlong into a potter's field, where his chest and stomach suddenly burst open and all of his organs and blood spill down into the ground. The camera follows the blood as it quickly seeps through the ground, falling, faster and faster through layers of sedimented earth, until it drips into an open expanse deep under the earth's crust.  There the blood and organs come together and quickly reform into the man's body, alive and well.  There's a pile of clothes neatly folded beside him.  He puts them on, dusts himself off and speaks.   We can only see his face, and nothing t...

    Start at the Beginning Previous Chapter: Day 1 Part 6 "What do we do with him?" says Gestas, looking down.  Jesus lies in a crumpled heap.  Flies buzz around; if you look very closely, you can see that one of them is very slightly glowing. Dismas sighs and grabs Jesus's legs. Slowly he starts pulling him up. "Well, let's go!  Help me carry him!  Let him have some dignity!  Let's wrap him up," he says. Gestas clearly finds touching dead bodies a little distasteful and uncomfortable.  He daintily picks up one of Jesus's wrists and lays it across his chest with a grimace of disgust.  Dismas remains serious and stoic.  Then Gestas seems to have a moment of emotion and tenderly closes Jesus's eyes with his palm.  Together, they carry him over to the shroud which is lying outstretched nearby and wrap Jesus up tightly, waving away the bugs.  Then they pick him up, along with the sacks of goods from Balas, and solemnly carry J...

  Start at the Beginning Previous Chapter: Day 1 Part 5 The tip of the knife presses into Gestas's throat.  Your eyes meet Gestas's.  The knife trembles, and then your grasp falls a bit away.  Gestas takes the opportunity to twist his way out of your chokehold.  "Would you relax?" he cajoles.  "I didn't frame you for murder.  Or anything like that!" You scowl, even as your rage is beginning to subside. "Buddy!  Buddy!" he goes on.  "You know I would never do anything to harm you.  You're my top earner!" "Hey!" comes a voice.  "What are you two doing behind my house?" A man is leaning out the back door of the house the two of you just ran through. "Oh, I'm very sorry, sir.  We were just leaving," oozes Gestas in the most innocent voice he can muster.  It's not all that convincing. As the two of you walk on, Gestas throws his right arm around your shoulder.  "I will admit, though, that last...

    To be cool is to negate fun without putting anything in its place. 

  Start at the Beginning Previous Chapter: Day 1 Part 4 Nazareth, 33 AD “Joanna!”     Joanna is awake.  For a moment she isn’t sure where she is.  She looks around at the earthen walls.  She’s in her hiding spot.  She had been dreaming.  She can’t remember the dream - scattered images dissolve as soon as she brings them to mind.  All that remains is that... what was it?  A song?  Or just a voice, speaking, calling to her?  And what was it saying?  Something about “Deeper down, deeper down” and something about “Passing through fire.”     Hands are reaching down in.     A dark, gravelly voice: “What! ...have you... done?”  Big furrowed brows and squinting, piercing eyes from a face hardened by the desert wind, framed by long, black hair.     Joanna looks down at herself.  The scroll is open.  One of the wooden rollers is still sitting atop her belly; the other ...