The Foundation Cannot Hold
By John Ogden
When John was a young boy, everyone said he had so much potential. They all grinned, said he’d run for office, get elected president, be a doctor, a space astronaut. One thing and another, all such high and lofty goals.
But John was born poor, a poor boy in a poor family with poor friends. He was real, genuine, with a trace of introversion. His whole life all he wanted was a little respect, was for people to think he was worth something.
But no one would. They just turned a blind eye and smiled paper platitudes when he cried out in pain, starving on the streetcorner because, while the praise was always there, the money never was. He was a nobody, disconnected.
He went to school to become somebody. He picked out the best technical school he could and signed the contracts, signed the student loans they wouldn’t give him unless he put his poor mother’s name on them as well. He didn’t hear the greasy palms of the bankers rubbing together, whispering “yes, an education will get you a better job, but that extra cash will go to our pockets for the rest of your life.” He only heard the light, the angels singing “you will have a future. You’ll be able to do things, be able to live in your own home, go to concerts once a year or so, maybe even have a family.” That’s all he ever wanted. Simple and basic.
But the school folded, the economy collapsed and John was left with the loan and a few extra bucks to put toward a new start. He founded his own company, created and started marketing his own clever products, and all the while the debt grew while the job market dwindled. In the end, nothing sold. No one wanted to buy John’s clever products, no matter how many he made or how hard he marketed them. In the end, he lost heart, finished his degree and set off in hopes of finding a job that would give him at least a little freedom.
But the men doing the employing were hungry and vicious. Door after door slammed itself in John’s face. Little treats led him on like bait, led him forward and through whole obstacle courses of hoops only to leave him hanging in the wind. When he finally did find an open door, he leapt for it, managed to get inside just enough to grin before his new employer bent him over and reamed him until he bled. “This is how your work day will begin. Be here early. This job is all in your pathetic life that matters. Give yourself wholly to the job and think of nothing else. I am your god. Do what I say or starve.” The offer was a subhuman wage, a paycheck that the harpies of the government ate into until it paid off the minimum monthly debt of school and the rent and left him next to nothing to live on. He agreed to the terms because he had no choice. The boss was right– work or starve, and being reamed until he bled was the only thing going.
Why the disparity between rich and poor? Why do so many people, through no fault of their own, end up like John? Why is there no soul in commerce? Everywhere one looks, the greedy hands of others suck and suck and leave nothing but corpses behind. John has friends who can’t go to school because they can’t afford it and they can’t work because no one is hiring. They sleep on couches, lose their homes, starve. Millions of dollars are spent on the production of films, billions on war, while men and women like John are raped day after day for a paycheck that leave them no room to stretch. They can’t quit, they can’t complain. They take the rape quietly because to do otherwise is to starve, is to die, is to bring the ships of other working poor down with them when they sink.
This must end. It must end now.
Lets rewrite this, create a better reality for John and those like him.
Lets say, when John found that door, when he looked his new boss in the eye and saw the truth of the matter, agreed to be raped for a subhuman wage, things began to look up. Some of the products he’d thrust into the marketplace started to sell, started to put a little money into his pockets. In the end, he didn’t even have to take the job. He didn’t have to leave the house. The amount of money coming in grew and grew and soon he was floating on a modest island of self-made riches. Not a fortune, mind you, but enough to pay all his bills and have a little left over to spend on other things. Little things, the occasional game or concert, the occasional trip out to the park to read with his fiancé. The money grew and so did John’s sense of security. He told his employer where he could shove the crappy job and grinned because he was supporting himself. He was his own boss now.
His friends’ lives got better too. Soon they were all living better, floating about on secure little islands of funding and smiling because they felt safe for the first time in their lives, felt like they could enjoy their days, make love all through the night without having to worry about working the next day. The rich loosened their grip a little on the reins and the slack enriched the lives of the poor. People started buying things again. John paid off all his debts and married his fiancé. He didn't get rich, but he lived richly. He didn't worry about money anymore.
There. That’s the way John’s story should go. People shouldn’t have to suffer by on starving wages, crippled under exorbitant loans because they’re too poor to afford school to begin with. Life should be about living and loving, not working, not slaving. What if we only get one life? Is it fair to have to sell it slaving away in the mines of the working world? Our lives should be spent the way we want to spend them, not according to the dictates of others.
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John Ogden was conceived of a government form and a passing mailbox. He lives somewhere out in the woods of a rural land more akin to the fantasy realms of literature than real life, and his favorite dirt bikes will always be the broken ones.
By John Ogden
When John was a young boy, everyone said he had so much potential. They all grinned, said he’d run for office, get elected president, be a doctor, a space astronaut. One thing and another, all such high and lofty goals.
But John was born poor, a poor boy in a poor family with poor friends. He was real, genuine, with a trace of introversion. His whole life all he wanted was a little respect, was for people to think he was worth something.
But no one would. They just turned a blind eye and smiled paper platitudes when he cried out in pain, starving on the streetcorner because, while the praise was always there, the money never was. He was a nobody, disconnected.
He went to school to become somebody. He picked out the best technical school he could and signed the contracts, signed the student loans they wouldn’t give him unless he put his poor mother’s name on them as well. He didn’t hear the greasy palms of the bankers rubbing together, whispering “yes, an education will get you a better job, but that extra cash will go to our pockets for the rest of your life.” He only heard the light, the angels singing “you will have a future. You’ll be able to do things, be able to live in your own home, go to concerts once a year or so, maybe even have a family.” That’s all he ever wanted. Simple and basic.
But the school folded, the economy collapsed and John was left with the loan and a few extra bucks to put toward a new start. He founded his own company, created and started marketing his own clever products, and all the while the debt grew while the job market dwindled. In the end, nothing sold. No one wanted to buy John’s clever products, no matter how many he made or how hard he marketed them. In the end, he lost heart, finished his degree and set off in hopes of finding a job that would give him at least a little freedom.
But the men doing the employing were hungry and vicious. Door after door slammed itself in John’s face. Little treats led him on like bait, led him forward and through whole obstacle courses of hoops only to leave him hanging in the wind. When he finally did find an open door, he leapt for it, managed to get inside just enough to grin before his new employer bent him over and reamed him until he bled. “This is how your work day will begin. Be here early. This job is all in your pathetic life that matters. Give yourself wholly to the job and think of nothing else. I am your god. Do what I say or starve.” The offer was a subhuman wage, a paycheck that the harpies of the government ate into until it paid off the minimum monthly debt of school and the rent and left him next to nothing to live on. He agreed to the terms because he had no choice. The boss was right– work or starve, and being reamed until he bled was the only thing going.
Why the disparity between rich and poor? Why do so many people, through no fault of their own, end up like John? Why is there no soul in commerce? Everywhere one looks, the greedy hands of others suck and suck and leave nothing but corpses behind. John has friends who can’t go to school because they can’t afford it and they can’t work because no one is hiring. They sleep on couches, lose their homes, starve. Millions of dollars are spent on the production of films, billions on war, while men and women like John are raped day after day for a paycheck that leave them no room to stretch. They can’t quit, they can’t complain. They take the rape quietly because to do otherwise is to starve, is to die, is to bring the ships of other working poor down with them when they sink.
This must end. It must end now.
Lets rewrite this, create a better reality for John and those like him.
Lets say, when John found that door, when he looked his new boss in the eye and saw the truth of the matter, agreed to be raped for a subhuman wage, things began to look up. Some of the products he’d thrust into the marketplace started to sell, started to put a little money into his pockets. In the end, he didn’t even have to take the job. He didn’t have to leave the house. The amount of money coming in grew and grew and soon he was floating on a modest island of self-made riches. Not a fortune, mind you, but enough to pay all his bills and have a little left over to spend on other things. Little things, the occasional game or concert, the occasional trip out to the park to read with his fiancé. The money grew and so did John’s sense of security. He told his employer where he could shove the crappy job and grinned because he was supporting himself. He was his own boss now.
His friends’ lives got better too. Soon they were all living better, floating about on secure little islands of funding and smiling because they felt safe for the first time in their lives, felt like they could enjoy their days, make love all through the night without having to worry about working the next day. The rich loosened their grip a little on the reins and the slack enriched the lives of the poor. People started buying things again. John paid off all his debts and married his fiancé. He didn't get rich, but he lived richly. He didn't worry about money anymore.
There. That’s the way John’s story should go. People shouldn’t have to suffer by on starving wages, crippled under exorbitant loans because they’re too poor to afford school to begin with. Life should be about living and loving, not working, not slaving. What if we only get one life? Is it fair to have to sell it slaving away in the mines of the working world? Our lives should be spent the way we want to spend them, not according to the dictates of others.
- - -
John Ogden was conceived of a government form and a passing mailbox. He lives somewhere out in the woods of a rural land more akin to the fantasy realms of literature than real life, and his favorite dirt bikes will always be the broken ones.
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