The beginning of The End? Nope. Direction finder…

Fossil fuel is finally running out. While we here in India still enjoy a relative level of comfort even though prices are at around the Rs. 50 a liter mark, out West the cost of fuel is spiraling upwards.

Ana Lopez a housekeeping manager at the Bentley hotel Miami says: “There is not enough money to spend for gas," she said. "You have to think about it: If I go to see my friend, I won't have enough gas to work tomorrow.” Others in middle America say more or less the same.

Such dire warnings of the bottom falling out of the good times have been doing the rounds for a long time now. Is this another one of those flash in the pans? Will some fiscal wizard step up to the bowling line and throw a googly (that’s cricket (the game) not Google corkscrewed) to save middle Earth? Or will we see more window dressing without touching the root of the problems?

The middle class has always been this ragtag line up of the poor who made it ‘good’ in the ‘good life’ sweepstakes. Some will say this is just avid scare mongering, the good life (aka 3.7 cars, 2.3 children, $123,847 in stocks and bonds, $252,732 in mortgages, loans and credit cards), they say, is the reward given to every worker who contributes to propping up the system. There is no sweepstakes involved. As long as you are able to bend your mind, swallow the inconsistencies in the cultural zietgiest, allow your soul to be callused, agree that the freedom of the spirit is a quaint pipe dream for grass heads toked out on an opium induced haze and STAY IN THE FUCKING LINE, the good life will work.

Society has always been a bit purposeless. More so now, in this 21^st century (there have been others) than ever before in documented history. Early on, we had the kings and emperors debacle. That didn’t work. Then came democracy. That increasingly, is looking like another shot in the foot in the middle of the Great Big Leap Forward (GBLF). Politicians, that reality disconnected species of dysfunctionals, are so falling in love with the image of themselves polished by pollster stats. No connection with themselves, no connection with the people, no connection with anything other than the hot seat. World of Warcraft failures, who rather than admit that they suck want to take it out on the people. The Fletcher Memorial Home would be a good starting point for their re-education.

Purposelessness. That’s the problem. With so much to do, you stop and think about why you should do it or do any one thing for that matter. Subtract the easy gravy of prestige, ass kissing adulation, peer pride and goody two shoes comfort you meet a blank wall…

Incent’s doc at the Center for Rhetorical Diseases, cut his rant mid-stride. Yes, she said, the disconnect from the substance-of-the-we-feeling (SOWF) runs deep on this planet. One type of the side effect is the feeling of purposelessness. Another is agitated purpose. Purpose without meaning. You, she continued, suffer from the former. Among other things.

Incent, looked up from his corner of stubborn impenitent sorrow and rage. When will the SOWF return? He asked belligerently. His doctor sighed. Look out of the window, she said, you can forecast tomorrow’s weather by watching the sky and yet you pretend ignorance about the sign of the times.

Clear, cool, liquid comfort shot through his being. Incent mewled. Happiness mingled with the pain. The strain of staying awake overtook him and he slid back into sleep. Contended.