I’m trying to fix something on my credit report, and finding the process–remembering the year of a truck I sold 25 years ago, the address of an employer I had for a month 20 years ago–infuriating. You fuck up the on-line application, you call the number, you get a robot. The robot is scarcely better. I don’t like talking to robots, and it occurs to me I actually prefer the drunk Swedes to the friendly Midwesterners, who I find vaguely horrifying.
And it occurs to me that if the banks get control of the world, completely, hell will have been fully transferred to Earth. No moral progress will be possible. Every last detail of every last life will be micromanaged by passive sadistic, number driven demons, so that human life will no longer be an opportunity, but a curse, a damnation, repeated as the wheel of dharma, but without the dharma: without wisdom, without freedom, without escape. Hell.
I do fear for our future, particularly since the cruelest among us consider themselves the wisest and most humane.