So, for the most part, the DowJones Industrial Average is just a number that I hear about now and again. I might bump into it online or in the newspapers. I might run into it casually as I am listening to NPR. But, in general, Dow and have little to say to each other. We hang out in different circles. In general, I don't think about Mr. Jones. Since I am forced to live in this capitalistic world, I have a passing concern in the health of Mr. Jones, but though there are occasional coughs and sneezes, I have never worried to much about him.
That is until the last week when the Dow needed a 700 billion dollar shock to the heart and is still having wild palpitations. As a matter of fact, Mr. Jones seems to be suffering from the same genetic disease that offed his Grandfather on Black Tuesday, October 29, 1929. The fact that October 29th is fast approaching and the market has already lost more in terms of points in a single day than it ever as in history has me thinking about my life.
As I sit, day by day, watching the imminent collapse of the American financial system and, consequently, the collapse of the world financial system, I have been forced to wonder what I am going to do once the grid goes down and we are forced into hunter gatherer societies and our cities are transformed into concrete and steel jungles. Basically, without a computer, all of my skills are for naught. Basically, I will be forced into being a fisherman, or the oldest profession: ho.
I think I will go with being a ho. The payout is much better and you don't walk around with fish scales stuck to your eyelids all day.
Capitalism is a bitch. Our collective quest for higher profits without any regard for the human experience and justice has led us directly to the doorstop of a very dark dark future. And in that future, you can find me working the corner of Broadway and Telegraph in Downtown Oakland.