Ethical Life Under Crapitalism
by Nic Olson
My coworker has been named the Woman of Distinction for Community Leadership and Enhancement in the City of Regina. She is brilliant.
A 72 year old community member is a lonely man with failing kidneys who considers suicide but laughs a lot.
There are three separate piles of change on the floor of my new, empty bachelor suite. I sleep in the closet.
We make jokes about huffing lacquer because we don’t know how else to psychologically deal with it.
I have a phone that is paid for, but am too stubborn to use it.
I don’t know where my cutlery went, so I dump curry into my mouth using man’s ultimate tool: gravity.
The end of each day, my chest is pulled taut and my brain is a piece of processed-cheese on top of a sun-soaked dumpster lid.
I fell asleep with my thumb in a book, reading about work.
My only piece of furniture is a crokinole board.
The most traumatic event I experienced as a child was finding a marijuana pipe in the ditch next to the house.
I get paid lower-middle-class salary and feel exceedingly guilty about it.
Just finished reading one of the worst books I’ve ever read and now aspire to write exactly like the author.
I bought backpack that encourages cycling and fair labour, but doesn’t fit my groceries.
My values are clear but my knowledge is stunted, so I cling to the ideas of the knowledgeable people I know, and when challenged in them I shrivel like a wintery weiner.
I desperately grab the first job I can that is based in community, because as a person with no education, finding a job that aligns with my values is like finding a bedbug on the pink mattress in the gang-monitored apartment. But we did find a bedbug.
Do what you can/Don’t try so hard. Forget about religious guilt. Always ask others if they are comfortable with something. Don’t be selfish. Seek happiness in others. Eat well.