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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