Blistered and Bleeding

We are live amidst the detritus prevailing in the wake of a deflat'd, devalu'd bubble - Of most recent acclaim, the global economic collapse of Autumn 2008, and its overvalu'd housing hype. We, all stragglers, refugees from the psychic and spiritual rubble of other deflat'd bubbles, even the One Percenters, though realize they it not. We suffer'd understat'd agony, ahoy! Ye Dot.Com bust of 2000-2001, Ye Greed is Good wreckage of the late 1980s, Ye Energy bust of 1973 and its subsequent malaise, Ye olde Lyndon Johnson a-spent the optimism of his Great Society on Blood Sport in Vietnam. Somewhere, only dimly view'd now, we suffer the slings and arrows sent future-ward from the Great Crisis of 1930-39; the consequences of its insideous margin-based mode of overheat'd exchange wobble in perpetutity, in form of lessons unlearned. Damages from all the aforemention'd strike us, oh so aggressively cumulative. We claw our way out, fingers blister'd and bleeding, through Ye toppl'd house of cards, whilst Greedy, hubris-infected Capitalists toss another deck on the pile. We instruct ourselves, imagine the tiniest hint of daylight. Alas, THIS especially stale piece of bubble gum - chewed relentlessly by seven billion terrestrial bubble heads - willing or unwilling - what choice do we have? Because, my good man or woman, no other game around is there to play, to prey. A 24-7 available End Time prosperity fantasy is masticat'd midst History's unprecedent'd calamity. Even Mr. Gates, Mr Zuckerberg and the rest of their self-pitying, us-ignoring billionaire millieu cannot run, cannot hide, 'less there really is a gated community awaiting them, Mars-bound above the teeming mushroom cloud. They need step up, and offer 99% of their "ill-come" to our Earth-wide communal trust, a transnational piggie-bank whose explicitly stat'd aim - to reconstruct Iraq, pursue emergency CO2 sequestration, achieve urgent nuclear de-toxification, subsidize one hundred million Africans whose food stocks will soon be deplet'd. That sustinence already unaffordable to many, whilst drought-flood grows ever more severe. Alternately, we jettison our Throwaway Planet, create the transfer points of a viable mass transit to the stars, having expediently succeed'd in dreaming impossible dreams, groovy co-operation at the Apocalypse Now Hotel. Pardon me, I've been reading too many books about 1960s San Francisco, and trying my own hand.