Politics 
No Comments The Pusher
These are thoughts borrowed from one Charles Hugh Smith. In this world of diverse necessity his name seems from a time in a distant past where the words of a white man would seem hardly worth noticing. But as we find, the worthiness of a white man’s word is of value being all men are capable of telling the truth although some find it most inconvenient.
He describes our collective self as junkies, addicted to FED monetary policy. We’ve become so accustomed to it we’ve all become addicted to its easing of economic pain and separating ourselves from the fetynal it sells is unthinkable. Easy access to debt has in one well-designed package harnessed the masses into everlasting bondage for college, cars, and what have you whilst simultaneously allowing the well-healed to borrow money below what the average bloke is able and profits handsomely.
This is nothing we don’t know but our addiction is the problem. Every last one of us, rich, poor, stupid, wise, depend upon that shot of confidence we get from the FED chair to make us feel all is well. On the way down we get the jitters; we all know what’s wrong, at least if we were truthful creatures we admit it. We just need something to dtimulate our hope. Just make us feel good; give us something to make it all better.
Admitedly there are many who are oblivious to the consquences of FED addiction. Our betters have gotten away with it, whatever it is. But I think most of us know and dread what feels like our last trip to the ER, hearing the preciding FED physician says what we already knew but never wanted to hear, “there’s nothing we can do, it’s over”. The problem is, we never know which trip is the last. It’s then the weeping begins. The resentment, anger, regret, and abandonment of hope comes flooding over us. It’s like being on an airplane. We’ve taken many flights before, some good, some not so much, but we always got there.
This time is different. The pilot tells us to prepare for a rough landing. A rough landing? Ok. They’ve said that before. Something seems different this time. Somehow we feel like a bunch of clowns riding in a big metal tube; we see the crew preparing parachutes; we can’t help but notice there aren’t enough for us. Our lives, our children’s lives, all depended on this flight making it. We now become very unsettled when it’s announced we are in final approach. Final. it all so final.