Rage Against the Machine

I do not believe in, think about, or feel much about death, death is too far.
Much more painful and dangerous is the terrible power, factual and immediate, of the disconnection between everything.
As I was jogging around my neighboorhood, I discovered a fantastic building: one of those factories remodeled as artists studios, containing an upscale restaurant, galleries, companies. Some cool people in it.
There was a band of musicians preparing to work a piece.
I also found nearby a gym, and a pet/bird/fish store.
Happy should I be of those discoveries, yet instead they silently but deeply reminded me of not just the relative randomness and absurdity of things ("relative" since there are, after all, good reasons for the existence and location of those buildings and people) but that, once again and increasingly every day, we live Times of Separation.
Nothing invited anyone to wander and discover those buildings or create them or make them or support them and nothing but random and absurd human relations has anything to do with those buildings and people pass by not knowing what they are doing and what they should do and people feel without saying and unemployment rage sprawls and there is no connection.
I have just finished American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis (often speed-read the most horrid pages, always superfluous) and decided that this average book had the good idea to present just this, our disconnected Times.
I wonder if, if we adopt the idea of the Noosphere, before getting to the point where that Noosphere exists, mankind wouldn't go through episodes of such great disconnections.
As humans differentiate (soon, biologically) increasingly from each other, creating divides that will manifest to us more often than wars, in parrallel the need to find meaningful ways to connect might replace and supersede the need for peace.

Keeping ends meet (keeping hands meat)

One needs something to be taken away to feel something. The constant movement of getting/giving, waves of life. (Habits are a stop in the movement, Work often forces that absence).
--
I dreamt of a new title.
-- found:
We have no more beginnings. (I revere you, George Steiner)

The twentieth century has put in doubt the theological, the philosophical, and the political-material insurance for hope. It queries the rationale and credibility of future tenses.

Language is immeasurably saturated. Words, grammatical forms, phrases, rhetorical conventions are saturated, nearly to the level of the phoneme, by usage, by precedent, by cultural-social connotation.

There is now a fascism of vulgarity. For shorthand, I call it Berlusconism. Bright graduates hanker to fill their boots, and not their minds. There is a contempt for the life of the mind on the part of money. Money has an enormous voice. It has never spoken louder.