Every now and then these days I still have great ideas.
Then, I switch them off and work on paying ideas.
I am giving the best years of my intellectual life to the pursuit of cash, which requires that I divert raging creative and analytical energies along an engineered tributary leading to the little irrigation canals that can be used to grow garlic, onions, and tomatoes in order to fund the nasty habits of eating and sleeping.
This is what happens to the majority of the world’s best ideas, I suspect: they are recycled for change to feed parking meters, never heard from again, all the intellectual potential of generations bound up in asphalt and steel, paved over layer by layer, season by season, never to be seen or heard from again.
Oh, and mine.
I could kill all of the world’s kindergarten teachers, who begin to tell students from such a young age that it is life’s cardinal virtue to stay “on task,” the “task” being, of course, precisely ideologically defined for a capitalist milieu.