A Wage Slave to Love

– bourgeois bohemian (a rom-commentary) : a college-grad gets a job in finance, planning to retire after five years and support/reignite the occupy movement after a few years making 80k or so a year.
He puts on himself two stipulations:
1) cannot live on more than 600$ a month (affect saving rate, threat of losing track of goals)
2) he cannot fall in love
But of course the second one is broken.  He falls in love and marries.

A few years of highly profitable marital bliss pass (his wife makes jokes about “tax breaks”, indicating the tension growing between them), but things are beginning to go sour.  She wants an aquarium, “Why don’t we go to the public aquarium,” he asks; “Do you want to take away people’s incentives to work,” she responds.  He asks whether work can still be said to be necessary and virtuous in the age of automation; she says they don’t have the particular type of fish she likes in the public aquarium, etc, etc.

Their fighting reaches a fever pitch as he is reaching the scheduled termination of his job (He has invested well, his savings have turned to almost a million dollars), and, right as he is about to quit— she divorces him.

He is forced by the divorce court to pay her a stipend equal to half his income (but I was about to quit!  But we never actually spent all that money!)  He has become a wage slave to love.

 

RESOLUTION: He plans to make a movie that could both raise awareness around the absurdities of the financial system AND generate enough money that he could pay his wife– art really is the way out!

or so he thought(?).  The movie bombs, it gets him fired from his finance job, and he is forced to work twelve hours a day as an administrator for a company that sells iphones in Africa.

 

Any producers reading this please contact me.

Advertisements

okcupid limericks

Some like the heat,
some like the cold.
some like the beach,
or the mountains and snow.

Some dig pajamas,
some dig croquet.
Me?
I think I could go either way.

In a green garden, in orange and red plaid
hitting the ball, scratching my head–
did I make this wicket?
How could I have missed it?
It was right there before me
but my ball only kissed it!

deep blue with a pale sullied stripe
(rolling in dirt, washed over in dew)
my ball rolls by swiftly
(alas) it does not roll true
You saw how I hit it,
you saw what I did.
Failures happen so quickly,
success never did.

Stuck at a tea party
on my rich friend’s yacht
laughing and rolling
and eating a lot
Who could have said truly
A riot I’d start
when I ordered sushi
for deliv’ry at dark
It was came after dusk
(well, well before dawn)
the guests were all hungry
They came down like a swarm.

Who could say truly
“you just must do you”
if hunger drives us
to devour our crew?

An insect lays eggs
A kangaroo hops
Humans do actions
and must pay their rent

between these constraints
(and hunger and thirst)
we all have the freedom
to do what we want

it is a cliche,
or may be perhaps
a willing lapse
(as we forgo reason,
and abandon the past.)
But before I go on
I must surely admit,
I do do like your slogans,
and more than a bit)

but surely we take them
with a cautious attitude
so we don’t fall in error
and believe we could be:
doin’ ourselves, doin’ our best–
’cause what could that mean if
who does what to whom?