They need to be completely pointless...and the universe stands back and holds its breath.
When the seams run out we're left high and dry with a lot of out of date software.
Believe me, I know why the miners went on strike.
The middle classes are meant to be the great social anchor, all that duty and responsibility.
But thecables are dragging. Professional qualifications are worth nothing - an arts degree is like a diploma in origami.
As for security. it's nonexistent.
Some computer at the Treasury decides interest rates should go up a point and I owe the bank manager a year's hard work.
They're enslaved by it. They're the new proletariat, like factory workers a hundred years ago.
They're not prosperous enough. Salaries have plateaued.
Houses in Eurasia are a dump. Maintenance is almost nil but the charges keep going up.
My flat cost me more than my father earned in his lifetime.
We're all locked into huge mortgages.
Now and then it sits up and seized the undertaker by the wrists. A pointless act has a special meaning of its own. Calmly carried out, untouched by any emotions, a meaningless act is an empty space larger than the universe wound it.
there's something interesting in their lives. It's musical chairs in reverse. Every time the muzak stops
people stand up and dance around the world, and more chairs are added to the circle, more marinas and
Marriott hotels, so everyone thinks they're winning.
Today's tourist goes nowhere.
All the upgrades in existence lead to the same airports and resort hotel. the same pina-colada bullshit.
The tourism smile at their tans and their shiny teeth and think they're happy.
But the suntans hide who they really are - salary slaves, with heads full of American rubbish.
Travel is the last fantasy the 20th Century left us, the delusion that going somewhere helps you reinvent
There's nowhere to go. The planet is full. You might as well stay at home and spend the money on
And the Third World doesn't gains nothing. Gags of coolies who mix the cement and lay the runways.
A select few get to mix the cocktails and lay the tourists. They're the real victim.
Middle-class pique. We sense we’re being exploited. All those liberal values and humane concern for the less fortunate. Our role is to keep the lower orders in check, but in fact we’re policing ourselves.
People walk up to the check-ins and for once in their lives know where they're Poor sods, it's printed on