Sacred Geometry

One of the things that fascinates me is the ever-lasting effects that art pieces have on people's perceptions.  Canvases can mask genuine genius, manic madness and foolish folly from perception, while pictures attempt to capture the clicks of time, ticks of sound and colours defined by darkness and light from the ever-changing landscapes of our spinning ball of tax and thunder.   But down under the layers of subtleties and blatant messages, art breaks down into the very basic perception of our senses - all in the attempt to capture an image of our brief dance with our realities and imagination.  

Flowers of Life

The Mona Lisa is depicted as a great masterpiece displaying a portrait of a perplexing woman.  It is explained that "we are attracted to this mysterious woman but have to stay at a distance as if she were a divine creature", as the contrast of a white, pale face and enigmatic smile provide frontage to a backdrop of dark hair, veil and landscape - all blended together to capture some type of mystical power.  

Art frustrates me at times - the things that people see and interpret just don't quite match up with my viewpoints.  In these cases, I think: to each his own, smile, nod my head once or twice and provide the humoring  'Uh-huh'.  When I began to study and comprehend the Mona Lisa years ago - my first reaction was - "this is a masterpiece?".  But as soon as my brow would raise, I would be whispered some explanation of it's importance, ranging from 'Artistic Masterpiece' to a 'legacy for genius'.  It could have very well been that Da Vinci created a simple portrait of a fair lady, with the same enigmatic smile as the multitude of his other portraits.  By no means is my skeptical nature of the label 'masterpiece' implying that Da Vinci was a fraud in respect to his artistic legacy, but rather that often as a collection of organized minds, we label things as masterpieces simply because we are told to do so - these pieces of art are external to us, not like others that are more innate and structural to us - art often only tickles the right hemisphere alone.  

DS9'ed

A label similarly locked in a code of genius was Da Vinci's other 'masterpiece' - the Vitruvian Man.  Reaching the proportionate measures of fractals and fragments, Da Vinci utilized the principles of Pythagoras' Circles to simulate the beauty of nature.  As Vitruvian reaches the fingertips to the universe, the perpetuated pull programs our bodies in a coded fashion, fractioning fingers with faces, palms with feet and ears with eyebrows. 

However, in the label of masterpieces and as my interpretations follow me, art has tickled a curious nerve of naivety and wonder - images of space and time.  I every so often browse online (nasaimages.org) gazing into the captured time, watching the spirals and waves float in genuine balance with logarithmic destinies.   My interpretation of art is the one capture in these images - the most sacred images of the stars, and those that are generated in most unique geometric forms, the pieces of geometric art that can be labelled as Vitruvian, or as sacred.

Polished Slice of Petrified Wood - Michael Gäbler

Sacred geometry is transcending our understanding of the ticks and tocks the seconds of our pre-defined universe has sculpted before our eyes - the keys that unlock the doors to wondrous wiggles of waves.   The structure of our molecules owe their conductive capacitance to the locked bonds that they share while octahedrons and tetrahairadrons pluck their pieces of fabric into their pre-disposed purpose of expansion.  The geometric spheres being defined and dissolved into mystic shapes of mesmerizing vortices and contracting crevices answer multitudes of curious questions to ponder the present-day perplexities of our world.  Sacred geometry is designing the code of conduct that defines the voids and values of formulaic expressions of life.  

As purpose and purse-strings battle their wits to each end, they are all bound to the balloon of meaning we associate to them - purpose, being a cause for what one's beliefs are, and purse-strings being the fractals of imaginary tension we tie them to - numbers and meaning can be defined hand in hand, but it still doesn't answer the perplexing question if numbers and meaning are only the product of our imaginary neurons, existing only in our pre-defined notion of what our senses and calculating brains come up with.  But as deep as the perplexity may go, the geometric forms of life are being told under sacred methods - telling mirroring images of how the mimicking pre-disposed innate notions of growth under the sea of the universe.  The geometric forms of these creations are within the realms of their own religions, and their own rights - they have become sacred, in the definition of labeled masterpieces, tickleboth left and right in equal proportionate manners.  

Dream States

I've always been a weary advocate of sleep.  Sleep, to me, is like getting a free ticket to children's talent show, I never really want to go, but once there, imaginary doors open to weird and freaky things that dive backflips across the empty gaps left from daily routine and unresolved callings.  Sleep can be one of those things that can both scare us straight - pointing us to the arrow of uncertainty, or calm us down - filtering into the depths of a billowing core.  It allows our minds to ease and replenish the ever draining activity of daily life - and feels so satisfying at the moment of a nice wake-up - as if at that moment, life is being lived with no terms and conditions - no contracts - no line-ups.  

Rapidly Moving Sockets

My fascination with a good sleep began when I started toying with my sleep patterns - A few experiments were in place which included a stint with late-night grocery stocking, several all-night music disc-jockeys displays and countless hours awake in utter disturbance, meditative calm and devastatingly painful sorrow.  As the time passed into dusk, at the point the Moon began to crust over it's wallowing eyes and rejoin the dance across the sky, and hours after the Sun shut it's radiative blinders from the mirrors of our rear views, I  would enter a semi-conscious state.  Now for clarification purposes, these times were only in absence of hydrogenated aldehydes (or alcohol in better framed references), as altered states of madness cannot occur at the same time.  But during these times of sleep and alcoholic deprivation, I would become more aware of innate objects, more discern for things that were previously indiscernible.  Real was no longer real, and the unreal became mundane and bland.  

Lunar Context

On very few occasions I've had the chance to experience the quagmire of dream states - the mid-sleep illusionary conscious walk - the walk that defines the zombies thirst for brains - the walk that feels no walls, sees no light and hears no pain - the walk that defines purpose and resolve from the subconscious to act out it's dreams, the sleep walk.  The sleep walk takes focus, determination and the utmost release of all concerns intermittent along the path to the one thing - the Goal.  Goals vary widely in the sleep walk, from pre-programmed routine analyses involving water drinking, bathroom breaking, tooth brushing, sandwich making, milk heating, phone calling, roller skating, TV taping - the state of the dream recounts the desires of instinctual, innate bio-formulated thought - as random as random is perpetuated from waves of time.  

Deja Vu

When arising from a deep sleep, such as in most mornings, I'm the opposite - and at this point, I've dedicated myself to a life of slothing - content in the filth and layers of moon crust in my eyes and nose, just laying around waiting for the next chance to lay a round.  The toxic stench from my mouth is little bother - and the prospect of constructing some type of latrine within the boundaries of the bedsheets seems logical at the very first few moments of the morning -  to summarize - mornings are most often when I feel the least like myself.   

As mentioned, although the wild swings in attitudinal beliefs beliefs  towards sleep present a possibly disdain for mornings, I am a true, practicing advocate of sleep.   Through my activism, I revolt against the modern day norms of 9-5 pushing the hours away in my attempts to redefine time from the originators who awoke from their dreams as the early birders plucking worms - who disturb slumbers in the wake of weariness.   I practice patience as my snores and growly snares overtake my defiance in the most restful silence - the revolution of sleep is not one practiced on the doorsteps of a capitol, it is practiced in the dwindling tug of gravity as the Moon pulls its pulley from the Sun.  It beckons soundless words, ballooning matter, and chaos in fusion to the slightest repetitive beats of the heart, and diaphragmic pulses of air - focussing thoughts into waves of inner relaxation - and the renewal of the spirit... 

"The lunatic is a wakeful dreamer" - Kant

Technocratic Empathy

The first movement in Technocracy came during the Great Depression.  Scholars and educated preachers spoke forth in the pursuance of scientific pragmatic reasoning to governing rule - the equations were simple - balance energy with food and population et voila - la raison d'etre n'est plus simple... The means of production were based on the principle of a society devoid of scarce resources, it seemed a viable method to diminish, if not abolish freedom's suffering amongst the masses.  

Grass Rooted

It was simple really.  In 1918 the Technical Alliance conducted an engineering study where energy units were in stead used in replacement of dollars, or bank notes.  This invaluable look into an alternate universe of society seemed to bend space and time together, creating images of orbiting economics in gravitational balance with the planet.  Those that were imaginative included Howard Scott and M. King Hubbert (originator of the Peak Oil Theory), both with scientific background and fervor.  They captured the numbers and resourced allocations, and plotted a path into the depths of the mined thought, working at an engineer's pace, revising the manuscripts of budgets with bottle caps bursting to it's seams in value.  Their interpretations of balanced society were in comparison to the one scripted right before their eyes, the society of a 'Price System', to which Hubbert once commented:

"... when one speaks of the state of growth of GNP, I haven't the faintest idea what this means when I try to translate it onto coal, oil, iron, and the other physical quantities which are required to run an industry... the quantity GNP is a monetary bookkeeping entity.  It obeys the laws of money.  It can be expanded or diminished, created or destroyed, but it does not obey the laws of physics"

His interpretation described the state that economic systems can be allowed to go into ruin, even though no materials or resources have been destroyed.  It poses the question: "If I can buy a loaf of bread for $3 today, why will the loaf of bread cost $4 tomorrow?" To Hubbert, this loaf of bread requires a set amount of energy and time to make, all worth a value in kilojoules, or calories in a human diet of time.  This loaf of bread would equate to an energy value, which in the current state of technology, could be produced at a minimal input.   Nothing would be in dollars and cents in the Technocratic system, everything would equate to energy input and output, as if we've plugged our electric motors into the sun and are basking in it's solar radiative magnificence.  

Pollinating

The ideals of Technocracy have infiltrated modern society and thoughts, as the mind of Vonnegut played the song of the tiniest perfectly tuned piano, while Roddenberry searched Deep Space under the blanket of the Federation of Planets - a post scarcity, money-less society.   In Canada, technocracy is far from removed from the brains of the "boring" (as scientists and engineers often get labelled with), they simply choose not to be bothered with dod-references to Britney, Barney, Bruce or Betty - but instead plug and play at tiny websites such as Technocracy Van.   

Those in power in the vast North, do less or more, to misinform, and in generalization more or less, make a mess.  The technocratic method involves utter and complete transparency, as if Statistics and Economics were tied at the hip, and Economies were no longer a thing of mystery.  The first mess involved a Party that were caught with their hands in the litter box, filtering Kitty from kick-backs and kick-stands.  The Stools stood tall from the litter box, and bellowed: "Transparency for all!  Balanced budgets and tax breaks will be abound".  But years after the scandal, transparency has been lost in the clouds of the economy, and the political pranksters can't mime their way out of the question: "What the hell happened?"  The bro's and ho's that cross the 'i's and dot the 'o's can't figure out the system they supposedly controlled.    

Underground Mirroring

If you were to dig underground, do you always find China?  As if in an upside down world, the Chinese have defied Western principles.   They have adapted to Western economies of course, but the Chinese have had their ears set on playing their own tunes to political plight and economic mysteries.  The one unknown heard through the noises of economic chatter is: "What will the Chinese do?"  And in the mystery so tightly wrapped, I wondered who the leader of the Red Republic is... With the wisps of the web-based wiki-marketed answers is the tale of a Technocratic leadership, a who's who of Hu - a politician diverse in the field of Hydraulic Engineering, a scientist without the political placards.   The People's Republic is still one locked in mystery of true tales of freedom who drum to their own beat as Western ideals breach into boundaries locked within the Himalayas, but it will be quite curious to observe the Piano being played by a Hydraulic Hu as the global turmoil continues up the flue.  

Propagating Propaganda 

The conspiracy of China's communistic approach to a technocratic system is still one that will write it's tale along the way - playing the tune of powerful piano pushing on pistons and power chords.  The States that stated the structure of store-bought stationary and stucco relied on banks to break the banks, but instead broke the backs and the piggy banks of their Luddites, and will be bound to the approach of the Far East.  As the two opposing forces of Freedom and State collide, the technocratic reach of electron and faith will merge - evolving their way into structure and order not before seen or counted.   As the Technocratic would empathize, our world, in context to a global balance, is one that can be realized with planning and resource allocation - boundaries can be unlocked and boats can be loaded from point A to point B - but we first need to evolve - evolve our minds to the whole of the sum, and bring point A to point B, to bring a collage of ABCs and XYZs into equal proportions of need and sustenance - a who's who of Hubbert and Hu...

Cryogenic Leeching

Death is the one inevitability every soul on this planet faces.  It's the one thing that terrorizes into panic, contemplates to completion, and modernizes to today's fashion stylings.  It looks us straight in the face, as if the other side of the mirror could truly trap a shadow, and when doomsday finally arrives, we learn the ultimate lesson of a lifetime.  

It is without doubt, the most controversial subject matter at any one's kitchen dinner table - the passing of a loved one, the mourning of a friend - the regrets of your history's mistakes.  The sorrow of grief is typically wrapped up in a turkey and cranberry cocktail, as we are told to digest the unknown mystery of life and death.  And it is never easy to do.  For eons and multitudes of combinations, we search for this answer to ease our suffering curiosity of the next step - resorting to silent prayer, unanswered questions, and transcendent misgivings.  And finally, there are those that leech.  

Suckling Soles

Leechers can be described as annelids in the subclass Hirudinea, and are most definitely hermaphroditic.  They feed on the spineless - suckling at the juicy fleshes of the prey until the trunk is tapped of syrupy sustenance.   They hide in the wallows of dark water waiting for the next victim - as spineless as their invertebrate brethren, but as selfish as a Hyena... Leechers find any poor sapling and drain the innocence from genius, and the shine from the sun...  

Leechers, in the terminology of eternal search for life, have arguably evolved into modern day lifestyles, suckling their way into cryogenic freezers and storing cells in a state of perpetual suspended animation.  It was once rumored that Walt Disney instigated this fad by utilizing his love of suspended photo cell animation in the storage of his own suspended body cell animation - and although these rumors were quickly disputed by his tombstone and grave, followers soon caught wind of this icy breeze and hopped on the bandwagon faster than an alcoholic falls off on a bumpy road...

Chronos Killers

Cryonics involves the speculative stabilization of a viable brain from a patient who is legally deceased (Cryonics Website - http://www.cryonics.com).  Under more simple terms, those that freeze themselves hope their cells structures, neurons, atoms all remain suspended and isolated from the outside environment.  The hopes of all this, as you can guess, is to reach immortality, as the argument states, that at some point in the near or distant future, medicinal advancements will be able to cure all that ends all.  

The stabilization of parts of living organisms, such as livers, kidneys, hearts and other transplants, require the material to be stored in a chilled environment.  Chilling technologies today rely on large amounts of energy input, where electrical energy is used to drive compressors and pumps in the compression-cooling-expansion loop utilized in producing sub-zero temperatures.  In order to reach cryogenic levels, temperatures must be reduced to 77.15 Kelvin (or -320.53 degrees Fahrenheit).

Allied Atheists Alliance

One of my favorite all-time episodes of South Park was when Cartman froze himself on a mountain top (with the help of Butters) in order not have to wait for the release of the Nintendo Wii.  As I can truly relate to the anxiousness of waiting for the release of a video game, the story took a twist when Cartman awoke 300 years later to find a society of Atheists at war over atheism (along with Mrs. Garrison scissoring Richard Dawkins).  Anyways, the episode took a glimpse of future society - one of my favorite day dreaming activities.  

Companies like Alcor and other 'Institutes' that pitch everlasting hope for under $200,000 are a complete sham.  It steps on so many of my 'shants' and 'cant's' that the notions of selfish leeching deserves to suckle on my chocolate salty balls... 

First off, the notion that one's life is worth preserving, is in the realm of complete totalitarianism - the idea that a life is worth any more than another is egoism at it's worst - an ism that definitely is in my top 3 worst categorisms... 

Secondly, the state of medicine technology is one so tightly wound up in profitability, who do you think is going to pay to have the medical procedure complete on your dead, frozen, shit-filled suspended animated body?  I hope you had an Aenima on the way out, cause you'll shit yourself when you find out that the generations past won't give a damn how much you've asked them to pay...  The number of years in frozen captivity will drain away the pocket books of your 'investment' spewing out hot gases of CO2 as the accelerated heat your body is expelling is cooled, and is spewed into the atmosphere as greenhouse gases - you're polluting yourself away into the futures.  As the investment money runs out, I'm sure the company is fine casting your frozen dead body into the ocean as fish feed.

Finally, there's my take on returning to the Earth.  Upon death, humans have come to bury their dead, a way of 'returning' to the Earth.  This method, of course, has been capitalized, and a funeral/burial can now run in the range of $25,000+.  In a cryogenic state, this will ensure that no atom of a body's make-up will ever infiltrate a plant, an animal, or another body.  The body will remain yours - as tightly wound as you would dream it to be...

Melting Away

If this fad ever takes off, for example marketing campaigns begin airing on network TV, Britney decides to do it, or Martha Stewart's head ever does end up on a animatronic robot, imagine the population swell and leeching impact this would have on a futuramic society.  I've been able to come to grips with my mortality, it will some day come - but at the same time, I've always been afraid of a closed casket.  If doomsday were to ever knock on my door, I think I would like to pass back to the Earth in the mud, buried in a biodegradable blanket wrapped in an earth worm's digestive dreams... leaching my way back into the mix, spreading bits of carbon, nitrogen and sulphur along the way...

In the name of Sacrifice

"Seek and ye shall find"

This saying has never meant anything to me in my lifetime.  What am I seeking, and what do I do if I find it?  My upbringing was one of Nintendo, disposal cameras and corner-store candy - the only things I sought were labelled on afternoon cartoon episodes of Bugs Bunny and Batman.  I'm somewhat thankful my parents left out popular teachings of xtianity out of my eardrums.  But this passage, in my absent knowledge of it's saying, seems to have taken on a new meaning in the context of modern society - the Seekers have become finders, with the finders being keepers and ultimately destroyers - we have turned these words of religion and enlightenment into a profitable purpose of "seek and destroy".  

In the effort to "seek and destroy", an army assembles itself with rank and file, executives at the top, mailroom, labourers and janitors at the bottom.  The generals, or executives, choose who to sacrifice and who to save - all in the blind faith and servitude to the almighty power - profitability.  Sacrificial lambs are reared in by the shepherd, all with the cloak conceiling the inner wolf that hides within... 

Those that survive the turmoil of "seek and destroy" profitability are also included in providing pennance to the almighty - they can prove their faith and servitude through martyrdom, or their god-given right to sacrifice their incomes and pensions for the sake of the almighty - the sheep can choose to have their coats cut for the shepherd's slice of the pie.  

In the name of Sacrifice, these choices are never easy.  The generals and commanders sacrifice the summer beachfront properties or 36' Bayline cruiser, while the sheep sacrifice their warmth, shelter, food and general means of living.  It is all in the name of servitude and blind faith.  However this sacrifice is far from serving a greater good - I would rather see mouthes fed than fat cats in speedos...  These sacrifices are in the name of Aztec human sacrifice, where the sacrificial lamb may be either aware or unaware, but most definitely in disapproval.  The sacrificial names of Chronothusia are no longer valid - the purpose of a greater good is clouded with dollar figured smoke and mirrors.

The sacrifices we make on a day to day basis are never self-serving, otherwise a rose by any other name could not be sold on Valentines day - but sacrifices are instead, imposed upon us.  It is difficult to battle against the shepherds that incessantly knock on our steeples, and the battle against an oppressive shepherd only results in hoof stomps and finger bitting.  Flocking to greener pastures may provide safe haven, however finders have become keepers and/or destroyers, and the greener pasture is grayer and cloudier these days... But try as they might to shave your coat, the cloak of Chronos may turn the ticks of time in your head until the moment comes where you decide to never sacrifice for the words of others - sacrifice would be a name long forgotten, where the finders will never keep, and the seekers will never destroy.

Supernatural BC

I've spent the last week and a half driving through the mountainous regions of Supernatural British Columbia.  The trees danced from the waves of the winds and moisture driven particles of sand while the asphalt of the roads bent willfully to the rocks of craters and seismic settling.  I often drifted into zones of silence, only looking ahead at the vortex of time I bent through the windshield.  Great glaciers first carved their way through the plunders, guiding the paths to river valleys and crashing inlets and islets.  It finally settled into the vast openness of the great depths and mysteries below the sea.  A welcoming home to the gravitational forces of Earth.

In amongst the vast regions of mountains and rivers are hidden fantasy wonderlands of Sasquatch, Ogopogo and Woodland Hunters -- all alive with the ever lasting answer to the paradoxical questioning of trees chirping echoes of sounds as they fall...  The creases of valleys bends boulders into dust providing safe haven and walking trails to the wolves and cougars who prey on the weak and mindless... As howls and growls go unheard, the desertification of a Plateau's Peaks is commencing, fueled by the particular appetite of a juice from a Pine - Bettlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice made this bug appear and suck from the teet of a precious resource.   But as deserts go, the rain will always fall, bringing shrubs and grubs to a landscape full of rivers and hatching grounds - spawning the answer to another puzzling question - the intelligence of fish - the Salmon of the mighty Fraser swim against the grain in an effort to raise their hands... 

Having sculpted boundaries across a Cascadia of mountain ranges, the region swept the dreams of Thomas Jefferson into visions of ecotopia - an independent republic of the Pacific.  Movements and interest still burst forth (see the aforementioned Cascadia movement) as if Andorrans wrote scripts of Independence and set them to Sea through the Ariege and Garonne.   But the latest political plight of freedom and independence involves the use of river and valleys for renewable power - pushing the brinks of the watersheds to its capacities with its dams.   Cascadia will never rule the lands as long as the spirits of the Natives still haunts their pasts...

Smadderings of settlements stamped their grounds in the wilderness as the chase for gold swept across the valleys faster than Donovan Bailey won the 100m dash... Churches run silent on days of the busy, while ramblings of teachings still preach in the farmhouse as Sunday dresses are pleated and pressed.  The life of Supernatural BC was taught well to many who settled in the forays of forests - all in the upper compressed regions of the higher altitudes to keep the mind tightly wrapped in a knot.  

Settling into the coast and diving into the depths of sea level, the Artisans honed their crafts of culture in the attempt to tax and tour tourists through the washing coves and caves of dark sunlight hidden in corners of every nook and cranny carved out in the ocean.   Whales and seagulls are free to see, but the trip may cost you a little... Yet the carved society built on the Left Coast was one that preached renewability, ecological balance with economic prosperity - a carving so delicate and balanced the Nuu-Chah-Nulth spirits seem to have provided its Supernatural blessing...  The Rainforests stood tall in defiance to the Gods of Poseidon and brought life on their own terms - an evolutionary masterpiece of diversity and divergence... and nonetheless devoid of touristic intentions to pave and produce profit - the 500 cm of rain throughout the year keeps the Snow Angels and Sun Bunnies out for a good proportion... 

The time spent out there was a nice disconnection from the constant traffic I hear day in and day out... It was as if the plug that I had tied into the wall of modern society was pulled and the noises in my head seized to chatter - the neurons relaxed into a state of mindless obliviance of annoyances and stresses - only ocean breezes and crashing waves... a supernatural experience...

Here a Stool, there a Stool, everywhere a Stool's stool

Cysticercosis

Time ticks by as the days pass that not one employer requires an employee with my background and education.  I sit here now and document this note from our politicians: "now is the time for action and stimulus".  With these words, action and stimulus, why hasn't anything been done?  It has been two months since Canada's budget passed, hailed as the cowboys relinquishing 'conservative-rule'.  These stools drummed up mixture of stimulated bullshit, a deficit of spending masked under the moniker of action and stimulus... In this spending, we've dedicated $12 billion for roads and walkways and $8 billion for housing - in hopes of generating or, as they so eloquently snuck into the mime, "protecting", 190,000 jobs.   In amongst the budgetary balance, are bailouts - to the automotive sector - giving $12 billion bucks to help consumers buy more cars and spend more money - what better way to survive the recession than to go out and buy a new car!  Thanks stool... But now as I sit stroking my educated degree gently in my lap almost reducing the sheepskin it's printed on to stardust, I think to myself, the bust is about to burst to the basement in this bubble... and I'm stuck in it without an umbrella...

Giardia Stools

New home starts are fine and dandy, but Canada has been crippled by a resource no longer valuable to the world - it's tar sands, oil sands, in-situ heavy oil, bitumen, bidumen, black bouillon, black billed ducks - what ever you want to call is just fine - just listen... the hub of Canadian biscuit development took on 156,000 new dwellers to it's boundaries from 2003 to 2008 - in that time, average value of a home went from $210,000 to $450,000.  All told, 157,000 home (average) transactions took place in this time [20K in 2003 - 26K in 2005, 22K in 2004, 34K in 2006 (record), 33K in 2007, 22K in 2008].   If we average things out, let's say (450,000-210,000/6 years) = $40K 'average increase' in homes and say 22.6K average home sales per year.  This equates to $5.4 billion extra dollars of money being used by the buyer to pay for a home - this is the money that is being collected and owed to the banks - and this is the money that one city hopes is still out there... 

So as far as billions of dollars owed goes, the 'average' home buyer, or 157,000 people - populated the boundaries of a hub, destined to pump, produce and profit, far removed from a lesser known moniker, reduce, reuse and recycle.  From the period of August 10th 2008 to April 8th 2009, joblessness in the hub of 1.1 million people increased from 3.3% to 4.8% - many of these unemployed with educated well paying degrees...  With the math translating the words to 16,500 people finding the unemployment line, or proverbial pavement - this translates to over $740 million dollars of lost salary and wages, and up to $500 million dollars of debt owed... all from one hub...

Cucking Stools

With this debt owed, no doubtingly bailouts will burst forth - banks receiving support for their profiting off the boom.  The aforementioned $5.4 billion owed from the increase in home prices is just the start - if we averaged the total amounts owed to the banks from the entire purchase of a home (not just the increase), this number could reach $11.8 billion.  At the current rate of unemployment in the one bubbled hub, this could translate to $1 billion in bad debt so far, all in one hub...  If we transpose the numbers from this hub to others across the country, hundreds of billions of dollars could be lost in the bank and mess of the housing industry, translating to a debt assumed to a population of 33,610,474 people in the thousands of dollars.   And in a food, clothing, plastic and consumable market already pushed to the maximum with high oil prices, pollution restrictions and governmental legislation - the debt could be devastating - and there the stools are, pumping in $8 billion into an industry that could be on the verge of collapse...

Poppy Stools

As stools stand tall on podium pronouncing their verbal eloquence in the context of leadership - they mimic the cues and calls for support.  As stools appoint each other Ministers, a title only befitting to imaginary statuses, nurses and ambulance chasers become Finance Ministers, property lawyers become Environment Ministers, and the corrupted become Health Ministers...  As each stool passes through the bowels, they drag and pull on intestinal walls, scraping the innards of the lined cavities until they're flushed through the sphincter.  As the Stools pass budgets and our moneys through the legislative processes, they dump and lend our money away, scraping the bottoms of our piggy banks until we're flushed out into the streets, homeless and hungry...  

The practice of sustainability requires patience, analysis and ultimately pragmatic thought process.  The stools who organized the CMHC to hand out impragmatic mortgages that allowed a 30% spike in bankruptcies from 2007-2008 in one hub (400% spike in December) deserve to be courtesy flushed down the drain... As the days tick and tock and the numbers continue to roll in... the bumpy ride we were on is about to get a whole lot bumpier - sea sick patches are optional.  But in the advent of the aftermath, our past mistakes may lead us towards rebuilding proper sustainable economic practices...  Generations have evolved since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, and in that time, we've identified what makes us sick, what can kill us, and what is useful to us.  As we pass through figuring out economies, eventually at some point in time, we should be able to figure things out.   As far as I can tell, we have a known population, a known supply and amount of food that can be produced and managed with water and seeds, and a known number of dwellings, residences and lodgings.   If we plug these numbers into equations of supply and demand - I'm sure some monkey out there can figure out how to balance an algebraic equation...  

It is however, cautioned that the consumerism that feeds the GDP is an effect of transforming the algebraic balance into a differentiated equation - all in an attempt to predict delta Profit over delta time - it is in the hopes of the aftermath, that we can remove the cancerous growth that is the GDP, and find a suitable candidate to integrate the differential equation back into a common, integral algebraic balance...   if there were only such a stool's tool...