Mental Entrepreneurship and the End of History

Lídia Vives (photography owner)

Winter is at our doorsteps. Trees turning a raunchy gold setting all their leaves afloat. Free salads showering through the air. This is no golden shower, for all those trying to picture something nice? No. But ease your mind and you can see an alternative truth to that which is presented.

Our brain is no muscle, but like a muscle feels. Its churning up there day and night, neurons like soviet era assembly lines working across the clock for a greater cause. It comes in handy to have a brain. Even more in handy these days when its actually working. But sometimes using that brain or being mindful means letting go, sizing down, laying off some people in that cerebral factory of yours.

We are all born as mental entrepreneurs, tasked to bring order to our faculties upstairs. We choose drugs, alcohol, sex, aggression to cut down on unwanted staff. We choose art, love, hope and compassion to bring our ranks in order and keep morale high. And all the world is churning in this unreal space. An industrial revolution of desires. An invisible war of nervous impulses. From control economies to economies of control, what difference does it make. Flyers, banners, slogans, ads, rhetorical conversations interacting across a space of minds.

And all we need to realize is that everything is packaged in our skulls. Quite the image if you could see it. This economy of the physical world, this marketplace of ideas, its happenings and fate are attached to our mental sweatshops. Cooperatives, lobbies, unions of contemplating states formed between our friends, in our community and across the world.

Point is, life is a state of mind and those minds are ours to oversee. Despite the dawn of liberal age, relics of a darker past stand still and unchanged. With empty humanism and fake notions of self determination we are forced to live. The machinery of our desires unrefined and geared towards our own self destruction. To make things right, calm your thoughts and treat your workers well. All it takes is a bit of faith, persistence and imagination to build the ideal home. And Mr. Francis, history by no means at all has ended!

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In Search of Purpose – Suicide of the Business Tycoon

What thing can fill this bottomless hole?
That deepens with my increased understanding
Of life, and how we’re taught to think
That meaning lies in trivial things
A job, a car, a house and lots of cash
A future full of promise and reward
They do not seem to fill the void
The more I think the more I feel alone

You ask,
How does it feel to be alone?
A monster ploughing through your bones
A hungry hippo feasting on your flesh
But for some reason you don’t feel
A single ache, instead the pain
Is in your mind, as you are forced
To watch the feast repeat itself
Every day

And as cliché as it may seem,
Only a force that’s all engulfing
And gives you purpose can fill the gap
And that is love, or so I’ve come to know
Could you imagine what it means to live?
A life without the notion of attachment

I stride along the shore collecting shells
To make the largest necklace that can be
An empire of fortune, a conglomerate
Connecting pretty things together, as I try
To connect myself to something in this world

And after all this time I realize
A necklace is more appealing when it’s put on
And so I roam the world like a freak
With an oversize necklace that can only fit
A hippo’s neck, not to say the least
I do not fancy dressing up that beast

The more I become proficient in the craft
The more I lose the human touch of things
And so I’ve turned into the very string
That holds the necklace right in place
Connected to a million winning shells
But worthless on my own accord

I’ve come to learn that love does not exist
Inside the minds of those
Who solely dwell for future gain
And so today I’ve made the choice
To slit my wrists and end my silent pain

And while I’m galloping to meet my fate
The string across the hippo’s neck
Cuts through my hands and I am thrown
Towards the ground
The beast has got her way

And as my blood drips gracefully
Across the floor
I rejoice, that it will stain
At least I’ve managed to leave a mark
Before I go away