I Walk the Line
Have you got a code you live by? What are the principles or set of values you actively apply in your life?
So I’ve come to the end of the first phase of what I’ve been doing, and I stumble my way back here for a bit of much-needed brain reorientation, and blow me down, what do I find? I’m here before me! https://helenmeikle.wordpress.com/2014/03/31/daily-prompt-cynical-moi/ And what’s more, it appears I’m still writing in verse, which is what I’ve been doing for the last ten days and what I’m desperately trying to stop doing, because I’ve got to the point of thinking in the bloody stuff, and it’s doing my head in.
Not that it’s worth complaining to WordPress about this recycling business, or anything else – like the new editor, which hasn’t hit me yet but will probably be enough to blow me off the site forever, when it does.
Because it seems that’s what life is, these days: once corporations get to a certain size, the romp off down the rabbit hole into fantasy land and lose themselves in their own games. Rather like my kids building Lego cities on the living room floor on wet weekends. Could you just answer a question, I might have said, and they’d look at me blankly, as if I inhabited a different and completely irrelevant universe.
All quite endearing when it’s children. Depending on the day. And whether you’ve got time. And how short your fuse is. But not endearing at all when it’s [sic] responsible adults who create a ‘Lego city’ in the real world, convince us to burn our outdated bridges and live in it, and when they’ve ensured their own profit, retire to a bunker to play Monopoly with it.
The operative word here is responsible, but there seems to be an attitude among corporations – and governments – that once you have enough clout, it doesn’t apply to you. Never mind that in order to generate that clout, you had to make yourself indispensible, and as a result, thousands now rely on you to provide the service you promised. The game’s the thing. Could you just answer a question, I might say, and they look at me blankly, as if I inhabited a different and completely irrelevant universe.
Are their heads, I ask myself, stuck so firmly in inappropriate parts of their own anatomy that they can no longer hear anything but the gurgling of their own insatiable hunger?
Wouldn’t surprise me.