Streams of the Interior

All I ever wanted was to be entirely responsible for the sentiment of my own existence, alive within myself, and independent by thirty; not owe a penny or work for anybody, yet manage to live in comfortable accountability, managing desire reasonably. That was always the end and some interesting places I’ve traversed in pursuit of that goal.

However, I’m aware now that satisfaction is transient, having successfully managed to achieve my aims, and being able to do the work I find pleasure in; only to discover ambition staring me in the face and making me question the reflection in the mirror.

A reminder that time waits for no man and it would be unwise if I let the opportunity become a misplaced gain. And so I’m back at it again, days and nights working on projects before I’m tempted, or worse, forced to accept their capital and advances.

Because one knows that commoners – the lot of us – the working mass – who don’t constitute the leisure class, still fail to realise the fact that it’s not commodities that are becoming costly, but the legal tender that is becoming cheaper. And to secure my ongoing independence I can’t really take a breather and have to take on challenges more riskier. So a couple of deals I’ve inked, and now I have to deliver.

With the expectations to make higher income in the future, at the same time not wanting the marginal utility of current income to fall, that presents a dilemma and it becomes difficult to find comfort in the status quo, especially when the world is in permanent change. Perhaps I should give consideration to interest… a matter of time preference, and prep for the next crisis using a pen for my defence.

Staying on the grind, more work and limited play. I cannot complain since it’s the world I’ve created… like something out of a Walter Battiss painting… very Fook Island-ish. And I must state that I’m starting to appreciate Schelling’s words when he said ‘without the contradiction of necessity and freedom’ or ‘rule and choice’ as Chomsky puts it – there’d be no creativity.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2016

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