The Perfect Storm

In between laughter and terror

I was in the process of strangling that laughing animal called Capitalism again.

Was it just my imagination, or was the thing coughing up less money, no matter how hard I squeezed?

My job had gotten harder — more complaints to handle, more tasks and more KPIs, and yet the pay was the same.

I was hitting middle age, just on top of the hill, with hardly any retirement savings, and prices were on the rise.

The US and Australia wouldn’t stop sabre-rattling and beating their Western chests against a rising China, while trying to keep a straight face.

Putin was feeling sentimental as he recalled the glorious days of Stalin, or Peter the Great, or, Ivan the Terrible, when a Czar was free to breathe.

Biden, not as bad as the previous presidential Fuck Up, was still in over his head as he had one armed and loaded boot in Ukraine, and one boot out of Ukraine, in Machiavellian limbo.

In other words we were all in a hot soup, a perfect storm, a game of bloody Chicken, with Leaders who all needed psychotherapy, while the rest of us poor working fools waited.

Inflation, I mean economic stagnation, or toxic stagflation, was growing like it was the next covid variant — shall we call it Moronicrom? Testosteronicrom? All of us prayed nobody’s fat finger pressed the nuclear button.

What a time to be having babies! And kids — good luck little bambino, we’ve left you with climate change, plagues, inflation, and overpopulation, but don’t worry, we’ve also left you the tools you’ll need to resolve it — nuclear bombs.

And here I was, still squeezing the neck of Capitalism, which was coughing up less and less money, like a state run utterly dry.

© Carlo Zeno 2022

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