The big game tonight

Capitalism seems a very hard habit to break.

There's no treatment program, no methadone, no jazz trumpeter locking himself in a closet to quit heroin in imitation of the hero.

We're being worn out by all this Capitalism, all the real and imagined luxury it provides, the import/export exchange based on fossil fuels and dirty, duplicitous little wars, bringing us nearer and nearer the very end of the historic era of imperialism. It appears that the evolutionary future of the dung beetle is brighter than the evolutionary future of human beings.

There's nothing original about Capitalism anymore, nothing that comes close to the poet saying, "One could not always say a thing clearly and retain the poetry of what one is saying." 

Capitalism is the writer who can only operate in the confines of his own and other writer's cliches.

There's a big game tonight and there will be another big game a night or so after the big game, an even bigger game, and so on. 

The Dung Beetles will beat the Human Beings. Put your money on it.