A Statement on the Principle
of Restlessness & Anarchy
The modern age. . . . . how do we cope?
We all like to think of ourselves as coffee klatch philosophers in our little "Walnut nook" who come up with these cute explanations of how life works, the perplexities of existence when pencils go missing or the little red string on a tea bag turns out to be defective. It has certainly been a selling point of the "Sniglets" series by former "Saturday Night Live" alumni, Rich Hall who collected those cute little definitions that seem to sum up so much of what leaves us momentarily flummoxed in our lives.
The most popular of these "rules of thumb" in common parlance is
"Murphy's Law", which states that "if something can go wrong, then everything will at just about the same time". Just as true as "Boyle's Law" for gasket pressures or "Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle" if you want to get into subatomic quantum physics that is mind-bending as it is frustratingly arcane for a certain type of woman into these coffee table books who also cuts out "Garfield" comic strips to tape up on the refrigerator.
But there are far simpler laws which can explain what has happened to our society over the past 50-60 years, and I say we shall start with the good ole' "Parkinson's Law" which was coined in 1957, the year of Sputnik and Cold War rocket science when the nation was a little bit more hard-jawed. The idea of "Sniglets" would completely go over the head of a Navy fighter pilot manning the 38th parallel in the Korean demilitarized zone. In plain English, the law basically states, "work expands to fill all time"-- meaning that if you give a task to a busy man, you can bet that it will get done.
However, if a man has nothing better to do then he will quite literally do nothing and have a hard time getting the task completed. The lack of structure and form is what "kills initiative" and most men can't function without it, barely getting from "A-to-B" and then noodling off to "C" if it isn't 4 AM already. Decadence, junk, and sleaze expands to fill all space which is why men who are unemployed usually turn to wicked pastimes if they don't keep themselves healthy and motivated. The secession of citizenship that comes with pot-smoking usually comes with a lot of baggage, not all of it good. . . . .
-- "Threatening to the Status Quo"
Next we come to "Bryant's Law", that briefly stated, "thoughts expand to fill all available time". Just like junk, if you're not careful. (-- Come to my home office, to see disorder, spillage, and chaos). If a man is not kept occupied with order and structure, then thoughts will swirl around and start scratching, becoming problematic when basically there is little to no conflict except the one he created in his mind. We pursue the wraiths of problems like a fine mist, unable to cure the bottomless hole of our self-esteem that leaks from our hearts. It will loom larger and larger until it consumes everything in conflict, a growing conflagration that knows no bounds.
This is the problem of all societies that become so prosperous it has too much abundance-- which goes spoiled like curdled milk and leisure turns to desperation. It is true that whatever has been built up will inevitably tried to be "torn down" in this tumultuous atmosphere of restlessness, nihilism and despair. Instead of funneling energy back into real, solid capital-building which gave rise to this abundance, the times will call upon the production of "novelty" to alleviate the stress which can take many forms, good or bad because our information economy is beyond the manufacture of dish-washers and widgets as we increasingly trade in slips of paper and the aura of brands. Creativity or crime-- valor or vandalism in the billboard jungle-- newfound spiritual awakening or the cynicism of drug abuse and rotten attitudes.
The choice is yours. . . . .
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Whose "Branded Image" is a symptom of a society in crisis?*******************
"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'
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(Rheeee of Crickets)
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("I heard that, Missy!")
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