The Great Depression

I go away for a week of errands and pleasures and nothing has changed when I return. I fully expected that everything amiss would right itself and welcome me back to enjoy a refreshed world of merriment and mirth. Because the world does not obey, will not follow my directives, and refuses to comply with my whims, I must create a world that does. That is the beauty of fiction.

Granted, plenty of folks will say, "That ain't real" as though it shouldn't count. But I beg to differ. The invented world, whether a science-fiction planetary system or a variation on the contemporary here and now of Main Street USA, is a refuge for the weak and weary. I do not mean to suggest we go quietly into that good night, hiding in a fantasy world and ignoring, forgetting the real world outside. What I mean is that the invented world is a safe space - even if it is found in a horror novel - a place we can rest and recover, take stock, make plans, and re-armor ourselves.

For the outside world is cruel, needlessly so perhaps, yet so vicious that few can affect their daily existence in any meaningful way without severe trials and tribulations. It's hard out there, out there in the jungle. It's a doggy dog world out there! A dog-eat-dog world would be worse. What we need is a bunny-infested world. People would be required to pet a bunny at least twice a day. Or a puppy. Or a kitty. Or a whatever.

Then there is the dulling determination of the drug industry with a pill for every condition, even the conditions that did not exist before a cure could be found. Somewhere there is an herb we could grow in a backyard and make a tea from it which would cure all our ills. Yet if we could monetize that herb, we could make a whole boatload of money - no matter if anyone finds their life path improved. The other escapes are liquid, with no better results.

Some people have complained about it being the times we live in. Yet each generation complains about the times we live in. New stresses, new obstacles - all the same just with different names. So why now? Why so many going away? An oft posted meme states something like this: We have no idea what each person is struggling with. Yet we do; we know it is the same pressures we all face. Some fight it, some negotiate, some give in. 

Or it's a chemical imbalance brought on by pollutants in our environment, our food, our medicine, everything we touch and what we breathe. In other words, our world is sick and little by little cleansing itself of the infection . . . which might be us. Might be. Seems reasonable to return to a less-industrialized means of food production - to save the children, you know. Yet who is telling us the truth about anything? 

Sometimes, when the evening is late, I feel a shadow in the room and it gradually comes up behind me and seems to sweep itself over me and everything changes. I hear the thumping of pistons at work in a galaxy far away, a cricket in the next yard warning me about tomorrow, a bit of paper blowing on the breeze in another town keeping my darkest secrets away from me and my attempts to destroy them, another cup of tea to calm a bitter soul - yet I sit back and realize it is all a ruse. It feels real, but it is not. Still, people die from dreams. And dreams unfulfilled.


Pick up a book and go to your safe place. And to everyone in every other moment, be kind, be supportive, lend a hand, say a compliment, let each other know we exist and we are valued. Pet a pet. Breathe the air and walk in the park. Don't think too much.



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(C) Copyright 2010-2018 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

The Valentine Dude Strikes Again!

Most people cannot handle a truly epic "epic fantasy" all at once so I'll interrupt the run-up to the launch of EPIC FANTASY *WITH DRAGONS with this holiday smirk....

As we approach the day of reckoning, the most dreaded day of the year for many of us, perhaps it's of some comfort to realize that it's all based on someone being executed. Yes, long ago Mr. Valentine was killed for daring to marry couples in secret against the wishes of the government. Romans, you know. So strict. Strange how what goes around comes around. At any rate, he paid for his crimes. And there is nothing more romantic than that, right? Dying for love, for the cause of love. So, well, there's that. Otherwise, it sucks.

Chocolate, flowers, tokens of affection, greeting cards, love notes.... Most of this slush funding comes as crass commercial putsch, of course. Marketing 101. It's all just a crummy money mill. Invent a season and sell stuff for the season - or else you will be labeled a rube, called insensitive, shown the door as the truly despicable person you are! It's foolproof inasmuch as only fools fall for it. And there are so many fools among us. Especially this week. I fall for it every year. But not this year! Oh, noooooo.

So this love thing.... What is it? Science tells us it's nothing more than a firing of neurons. It's a biochemical reaction to a certain stimulus. See a pretty face, feel happy. A pretty face is determined based on genetic programming and environmental quirks. Also cultural sensitivity training, perhaps. We know what we like; we have been taught what we like. For men, it's easy: there are ass men, boob men, and so on. For women...well, I've read they like broad shoulders and a non-physical attribute called confidence. Perhaps also some cash in the bank. I've heard that. Magazines can be wrong, I've also heard. Or it's all fake news. 

Even so, it's a walking stimulus.  Advertising is based on walking stimuli; Valentine advertising is based on sex-related stimuli. The problem is that such stimuli exists year-round, so what's the big deal with the focus being on one particular day of the year? Because, dear lovers of love, if you do not demonstrate said love to said lover on or near this special day of love, then you are identified as a dolt at best and an ex-lover at worse. There is no middle ground, only a pit of ruin, an abyss of regret. And that pit is not filled with chocolates - not even half-bitten chocolates.

Yet never fear! We have the means to solve your problem. Just like the commercials now on radio and television and with increasing annoyance the Internet (every ^&@#$%^&* web page!) there is a message that you (me? yes, you!) have a problem. You did not know you had it but you do. And it will zap everything that makes you the you that you think you are right out of you! You do not want that problem, do you? Obviously not. Well, as luck has it, we can cure you of the problem you did not know you had.

So for a certain amount of money we can give you something which will solve that problem. Drug companies seem to do this, too, and clearly have mastered the art. You go along with your simple, unadorned life thinking it's just a matter of getting older, not having a quality sleep, suffering a poor diet, not having enough friends, or at least not enough cool, hip, advertising-worthy friends (but who can ever have enough of those?), and then...BAM!!! It hits you. No, it's not your fault, so don't worry. Besides, we have a solution. 

Buy this! Plenty to choose from. Eat this! Drink that! Take this! Wear this! Drive that! Look this way! Pay me! Pay us! Pay all of us! Or else you are not the person you want to be. Or else you can never be the kind of person you think you are! Give us money and we will roll back time, give you a make-over, prep you for your big re-debut, help you sweep the lover of your dreams off his/her feet! We will make you a god/goddess! 

Give us your money. It's that easy. Oh, for shame. Got no money? Well, then you don't count. Never counted, in fact. And who would want you in his/her life anyway? That is, without all the money to buy all the solutions you need to fix all the problems you obviously have in order to fit into this perfect, virtual society we have constructed and dutifully maintain for the glory of all who worship the almighty Valentine and his many minions of Münchausen mania! Only then will you become worthy of membership in the Valentine Club. 

Just click off the obstinate media and return to your humble, quiet existence. Perhaps cuddle up with a wonderful, understanding book boyfriend/girlfriend. Many do. It's not that weird. Three-hundred pages or so will definitely last longer than an awkward round of that sexercise thing you used to do - well, that was before that Valentine thorn stuck in your side and started to hurt. Here's to that box of chocolates you eat all by yourself!

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(C) Copyright 2010-2017 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.