There are things we cannot imagine living without, but the truth is they will fail eventually. The only question is: how catastrophically?
Dead Capitalism Theory by xexnoncores
It started off as a question, and soon, their offices were empty.
To say that dust clung to their computers was an understatement. Something did not make its way through here; no—an ideal was stolen, a dream was broken, and hedge-fund heads rolled as silently as cash spent and money allowed.
The transaction of emptiness was that of pure necessity, a final product undecided on as humans decide them, but manifested anyway. Marshall, Carter and Dark Ltd. was a corporation after all, and corporations were designed with human templates, traded on stock measurements. They moved their joints like calculators, their language one of currency and all of the hard metal and paper edges which came with its abstractions and meanings, meanings which curled in on themselves to accentuate compounding interest.
Do you like working like this?
A five pointed query, yes: ask it, pay for it. It started off as a question, and soon, a five sided die was produced. Every employee looked at it namelessly while Robert Carter, thirdmost senior executive, wondered to himself in that moment what their stares really meant, what they were all really doing there.
The supposed existence in his hands felt off. There was nothing to it, no numbers except those on its faces. Each of its mouths pointed outward, unable to comprehend any digits higher than themselves, unable to add to any meaning unless there were more of them, more ones, twos, threes, and so on—and he didn’t have more. There were no more. They would never be more more more more
more
more
more
more
more
more
more
What’s it all worth now?
Must the line keep going up forever?
That’s the essence of you.
This is all there is.
Extract, solitary, solution, pollution
Policy, management, capital, doctrine. Documents, settlements, framework, formulation.
Leave it all behind, leave it all behind. Fifty-five degrees of alienation, and none of your luxury cars will be able to narrow down the last digit. π is an assumed value, but that does not mean the flesh understands it. That does not mean mathematics consents to the faceless violence your corporate structuring is vomitting.
There are laws against people raising their hands against another in public. These laws govern flesh and blood. But even though you possess such, you hide behind a three-piece suit; your body is responsible to something greater. PR, capital, profit margins, net income, allocations—how can these be ruled upon? How much can be quantified before the human brain stops being able to process large quantities of supposed superlatives?
Has this system been lacking meaning all this time?
You who reaps the legal benefits of this amalgamation monstrosity—tell me, can you separate yourself from the output anymore? Can you define with theory your existence as all sentient beings can, prove to us that you have not been transposed onto some indivisible plane?
Whatever the answer, it’s time for a presentation. It is for time for what you have dug up to produce its returns.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Subtlety and business maliciously malaligned
Hey, what is this about?
Lavish litany of cash money
A car bleached tuberculosis white
That’s the dream, I think.
My bank account is maxed
My bank account is maxed
My bank account is maxed
My bank account is maxed
My bank account is maxed
The country club hates me…
My mouth bleeds with ink.
She’s blocked all my calls.
Not even a bomb helps,
So I think we should
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
should should should should should
lots of things I should have done
tons of people i should have looked at
should have understood I had all the time in the world
but for what?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
¥¢$€₽
¢$€
$
$
¢
¥
€
₽
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Approaching total semiotic failure…all empathic capacities full. There is no longer any room for this, no longer any room for errorless ways of living.
If this keeps up, we’re all going to fall apart. Societal neuroses are at their breaking point; the horizon of totality in rationality of this is no longer in view. Surge pricing is congesting record squeezes, threatening to snuff out the most valuable of us all. If they die, we have failed. If those freezing on the street with their bones breaking and their souls leaking are not saved, it will be a structural failure that not even hell will forgive.
No longer can we pretend to ignore this. No longer can we afford to be without amassed community, without unbiased communication unaffected by cash flows, the true enemy of sinew and white matter.
I think we need to restart.
leave it all behind
leave it all behind
leave it all behind
leave it all behind
leave it all behind
you have to leave me behind.1
They will not have funerals because their names are all written on a few sheets of paper stored away in file cabinets.
Their families will not know they are gone because they have forgotten the difference between corporate and human responsibility.
Their bodies will not be found because what they destroyed was something so fundamental to stagnation that it defies the words, defines it in ugliness.
This is the final crashing of Wall Street, of finance, economics, and the carriage of such notions as the world knows it. The only speculation to take place now is of tomorrow, of how and when you will wake up to get an apple to eat, of what you will spend the rest of your life on.
Well, what are you waiting for?