I must've dozed off, or something… And I dream that I died and went to hell. There my soul is tortured by things I fear the most…
…I see the country that used to be a beacon of freedom for the oppressed being perverted into a security vault. I see cameras, metal detectors, x-ray machines, bag searchers everywhere. There are satellites looking straight at me. Someone always watches, hears every whisper, reads every word I type on my computer…
…I see that the notion of merit is dead. All that matters now is who you know. Connections and "club" memberships are the hottest commodities…
…I'm forced to watch people merging into two groups: millions of those who barely manage to eke out a living from whatever professions or trades they forced upon themselves and a small number of comfortable others – nothing in between. And on the top, there are a handful of secret billionaires who have been quietly buying up the world…
…Someone murdered the free competition. Small businesses fall down like slaughter victims. Banking conglomerates are being bailed out of their greedy fuckups through the ponzi schemes of international borrowing, but the treasury is empty. In horror, I look at the decaying corpse of the glorious industrialism formerly driven by the production of quality goods - now it's just a feed for the paper-trading worms…
…I see special interests' money usher through the Supreme Court unconstitutional laws, re-directing average taxpayers' earnings right into the pockets of the paying monopolies…
…And I see young fools, with no prospects for decent lives and no understanding of underlying reasons for it, burning with desire for a change. They've been dumbed down to the point that they cannot formulate their purpose or devise an action plan. They huddle in a tiny space, called Zuccotti Park, near the place they assume to be the source of their distress, simply because they have nothing else to do…
…I stop by a newsstand strewn with tabloids covered by repulsive photographs of insignificant clowns. I manage to pluck out one "real" magazine. It excitedly screams into my face that Lena Dunham has received four Emmy nominations for her half-baked mediocrity. The well-connected and moneyed hipsters, she so skillfully represents, jump up and down like mad rabbits…
…And I see a 5-floor-high advertisement board of Katy Perry in 3-D, but I hear that Fiona Apple's The Wilder Wheel tour is not sold out…
…And I see the Redeemer, the young woman whose words and images have the power to alter people's consciousness. But nobody can hear her as she is sealed into a cell of fear built by haters… And I know that I contributed to her imprisonment. She is smashing her body at the see-through walls in exhaustive attempts to break free, and I am not able to help her. And those who can, refuse to do it… I feel impotent, paralyzed.
It hurts so much inside, as if somebody put a grenade where my heart is supposed to be and it's exploding. I scream in agony. I claw at my chest, trying to let the pain out. I whisper to myself, "Wake up, wake up!"
Only, I cannot wake up. This is not a dream and I am not dead. This is the hell of my actual existence.
The Frustrated CFO 