THE BLOG
03/18/2010 05:12 am ET Updated May 25, 2011

Pardon the Interruption, But...

I begin to have deep distrust for the world as it is portrayed by our trusted sources of information.

I am feeling the effects of exposure to the 24 hour sell-a-thon that has become America.

And the intensity of the sell speaks to the desperation of the seller, who knows the store will go under at any moment, and to warn the customer of such an event would impede even the final, sad dregs of profit from oozing into the seller's open hand.

But the truth is obvious and accessible to anyone with eyes and ears: our planet is in peril, our habits are self-defeating, our leaders are corrupt, our fever to consume is unrelenting.

And yet we are told not to trust our sensory apparati, that whatever nature has bestowed upon us is faulty and ill equipped at best to deal with the world man has built from once thought to be endless and abundant resources.

And there does not seem to be an antidote to this irresistible trend, or an alternate version of the one which, like the creeping plaque on an artery or the accumulation of scarred tissue on a brain, runs counter to the corrosive effects of rampant greed.

What has been accomplished to stem the onslaught of the golems of unregulated, unethical industry? Where is a good virus, a positive plague to overcome the learned behavior that permits people to profit from misery, to thrive from inefficiency, to promote chaos and obsolescence as a means to perpetuate debt? There does not seem to be any cure for what is ailing our nation. America is itself a living example of greed-fueled inefficiency, reflected in its regressive attitudes, unrestrained profiteering and unceasing ignorance of its own mortality.

And the steady erosion of our overall output, regurgitating progressively lesser ideas and corrupted values ultimately begets a final generation, born sterile.

From the grinning forebears who preached the gospel of trickle down economics, our democratic landscape has been reduced to a dystopian dust bowl; the power mad corporocrats who mock human hope and dangle genetically manipulated carrots in front of the burdened herd have succeeded in creating a world dreamt of by the half of the human psyche which slakes its thirst on blood and revels in human failure.

They are the deluded demigods who are hopelessly addicted to their material wealth, too drunk to remember that it will do them no good in the end, that they will someday become the very earthen petroleum they covet.

Okay, so I just read Animal Farm to my kids. I now return you to your regular programming.