If people didn’t crash and die, streets would be too crowded to be used effectively. Hospitals and pharmacies crave patient moans. Parasites thrive on waste with which they fill their half full cup. Politicians rely on life being like living in a zoo; otherwise they’d have no control over you. Rescue teams wouldn’t have anything to do. Yup, scavengers need to make a living, too. Junkyards and wreckers wouldn’t have any collisions to clean up. You’d think bicyclists would inherit pavement, but teens keep coming of age to augment divers’ ranks, while years supposedly take a toll on bicyclists’ bones, though osteoporosis is a pandemic caused by poor calcium uptake due to exercise insufficiency, intestinal malady, and Vitamin D deficiency.
Doubled pleasure can be fun by twice. Every indulgence can be deconstructed into vice. Insurance actuaries live to dole out advice. Apathetic lummoxes and pathetic lurdanes do exactly the converse out of advertising coercion, oppositional defiance, passive aggression, and pundit rejection. Egomaniacs rather be bold and refuse to be told, yet unwittingly submit to roles set by strict bullshit. Decisive action is what rabble seeks, as long as it improves their situation and keeps self above compliance. Fun and golf taking precedence, trumping duties, planet’s entire population will go down on this sinking ship because nobody’s manning pumps and sealing leaks.
CYA, cover your ass, may be America’s most common mantra. Against executive might you can’t say anything definitive or right or risk embracing endless night. Disavow any repercussions you might have enacted while your mull over report you’ve redacted. Officials under pressure straddle middle ground of trying to please everyone, thus no one, take no stand on either side, then whimper about feeling exhausted. Why not commit to a course on evidence you’ve come across and flow with its force? People are all you’ve got to work with, but they’re such slackers “work” means duties you alone fulfill as if it were your bliss and you’ve got unlimited time to kill, which they summarily dismiss, “Thanks for your sacrifice or service," whatever you deem it, is what you'll hear. ["Act alone and work your fingers to the bone, for all we care."]
Why can’t anyone find proverbial skeletons hidden in closets? Is it now all don’t ask, don’t tell? Closets are small spaces easily lit and searchable. Takes cadaver dogs, dumb luck, or ground penetrating radar to discover remains in caves, deserts, fields, forests, tundra and underwater. Maybe you’ll trip over a hominid skull hiking through an eon old gorge, though it’s only happened a couple of times over a hundred thousand years. Raiding tombs reveals nothing of value, just frame tubes made of dusty minerals, shiny bits all stolen before or during burials. Ultimately reclaiming all its treasures is nature, ever territorial.
Bicycle, Antigravity Freedom Machine, Bicycle’s Remarkable Hot Tub on Wheels, Mouthe, 2019, included to underscore just how banal emerging art can be when not defending freedoms or illuminating alternatives. Arts in decline or sign of the times?
“A subtle kiss that no one sees, a broken wrist and a big trapeze, oh well, I don't mind. You don't mind, cause I don't shine if you don't shine. Before you go, can you Read my Mind? It's funny how you just break down waiting on some sign. I pull up to the front of your driveway with magic soaking my spine.” Killers, Sam’s Town, Universal, 2007. Towards end of their Pacific Rim tour, they ride bikes in Tokyo, as shown in video.
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