The Patriarchal God of Capital circa 2015

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New Pace in 2015, ink on paper,
Work Strike, ink on paper, Napo B – Sheila Smyth 1989

Observations and notes on the transparent God of capital or means to acquiring leverage with our lives. Who was I working for anyway,  I met along the way  the others on this earth walk, we recognized one another immediately, reduced to furniture  in the silence of work and toil.

In the battlefield of capital circa whatever or the deck of a sinking economy new millenia, or on the bustling streets of our disintegrating  cities , what could we possibly have to do with one another, other than being the sum of all it’s parts. In part subordinates without the omnipotent  extremities of the patriarchal god of capital.  We never imagined we could subdivide the sum of its content, for it  stretched itself to the limits of the naked eye gazing at a starlit firmament of souls that have sublimated there earth walk to simply survive.

We relinquish our authority or right to authorship vested in our minds belly in hopes of being invited into the inner circle. We are as time would have it the molecular gravy of time on a planet that makes it’s own gravy.  Crippled by complicity in this crime of having savored the holy Eucharist and regurgitated this fleshy fatty content onto the scorched earth of religious doctrine; Godless we wander beneath the sun’s glare individually represented within the confines of degrading flesh. We could be no less than the sum of the parts and yet we fall short of being the accumulated knowledge of those that came before us, these  secret truths confined by the arbiters of wealth.

We wonder  on the putrefied corpse of centuries of thievery and greed, eventually loaded into worm feeders, no sepulcher to heavy to conceal or withhold our duty with destiny. We are still on the outside gnawing our way in. We make our tally and subdivide and go our separate ways choosing not to question the time theft of our lives by so few glutenous rich behemoths. Fortunate for us time consumes all,  and the greatest greed to even galaxies eventually collapse, there beauty reduced to the void.


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