I Can’t Imagine Having A Job

by Shawnong

What do you want to do when you grow up?

A distorted conceptualisation so discreetly branded into the impressionable minds of ours.

Is it really asking innocently, what do you want to do when you grow up? Or is it, in hushed undertones asking, how are you going to spend your time and sell your soul for money, just like a prostitute, when you grow up?

Our current era of advanced capitalism, a grandiose upholstery knitted together by webs of connection amongst those in the upper echelons of authority, obfuscates our vision to peer through the seductive hallucinations cast upon us.

It’s as if you are being locked up in a prison cell, for far too long, and your only outlook to the world outside is a square opening of 12 x 12 inches, you start to genuinely believe that is all there is to the world. You relish in the faint glimmers of sunlight undulating through the window, warming your sombre spirit, you forget that the sun shines over the whole Earth.

We are indoctrinated with the idea that being successful means to accumulate materialistic irrelevancies; a pacifier shoved into our mouths still full of premature teeth. If the only difference between where we are now and where we will be on our deathbeds, is the quantifiable amount of wealth we have so stubbornly clung on to, then we are better off dead now. Take a pair of scissors and snip off the remaining length of the film, the movie is already over.

As John Lennon so aptly puts it, “Keep you doped with religion, sex and T.V.
and you think you’re so clever and classless and free
but you’re still fucking peasants as far as I can see“.