I want life!

What great times are upon us. The masses are losing their shitty jobs, and my hours have been reduced to 20 per week which is enough to keep me in beer and pizza for the foreseeable future. Take our shitty jobs and send them to China and let us develop a mass of labor that refuses to do shitty jobs, that refuses to work in a bottling plant, slaughter house, car factory, food processing plant or any other type of plant that makes anything at all. Man was not meant to be bending over a machine his days filled with work a monkey could do, no offence to monkeys because they would not do it. No, it takes a strangely ignorant beast with only a concern for his stomach to get up each morning and wander into some vast cave and spend his day turning out shoddy, unimaginative consumer good, diapers, and bows for teddy bears. All useful things I am sure, but to dedicate one's days to their manufacture, distribution, marketing, purchase, and disposal is a sin against everything man could be. Is there any product worthy of my life? Yes, to be sure we need goods: books, art, art books, wine, cheese, decent food, artfully made clothing, and places to gather, but do we need gadgets that take us away from our fellows, that separate us from our neighbors? Life has become an escape from being human as we spend our days locked in our houses, cars, offices, factories, never touching the earth or feeling a part of anything that does not cost money. The economy! Fuck the economy. Burn it all down and start over. Let the weeds crack our roads and collapse our bridges if it helps me know my neighbor, helps me know the life of a person two doors down that I see once a year, but whose name I do not know. What is this life of looking at screens, this life of unmediated experiences. Would it not have been a better place if the native Americans had kept their land and their ways. Did they ever kill 100,000 in a day? Did they every pollute their own family so they could get a $1 an hour more in pay? I am getting close to refusing this life of work and empty play, this life of fools shouting their slogans. I want nothing, but what I can make or earn by honest labor. Where is the living in this life? Where is the screaming in the night, the massaging of slain deers blood into my bare chest. I want life!