There is unity in derision. A certain coalescing of like-minded anti-speaking stand-for-nothing but against a lot kind of folks.
The bubbles fall over Lawrence Welk, and yet no one is happy.
We live in a bubble now. Most of us know a world that does not exist elsewhere, yet we kavetch and cajole mercilessly, as if our lives depending on it, for to be gushing with gratitude is for the delusional. There is so much to be concerned about, so much to overcome, so much to wonder what the hell happened. Even as the American Dream, as we ‘knew it, in all its ˌfanˌtazməˈɡôrēə/ phantasmagorical glory, was fading right before our lives, with a whimper and a housing crisis engineered by the treasury who saved the banks which means we essentially pay three times, one to the crooks (the bank), one to the other crooks (the gov’t) and one to our immediate circle of associates who we pay for various goods to keep us alive.
Before everyone was so isolated in their petty one-upmanship gains, pursuing their ‘rightful’ place in the aggrandizements of manifest destiny, believing they are better, just slightly, than any ‘you’ that you can conceive of to throw out there for their perusal. The scrutiny lifts only when the troops find they have a common cause–their very survival somehow is threatened by a magistrate, or