Mundus et Infans

Economy, Poetry, Uncategorized

“They were there for a discreet, invitation-only summit hosted by the Obama administration to find common ground between the public sector and the so-called next-generation philanthropists, many of whom stand to inherit billions in private wealth.”

The New York Times

If Piketty is to be believed
the rate of wealth accumulation, labeled
r, will in fact inevitably exceed
the rate of growth; thus are the rich enabled
to pass their filthy riches on to their
unencumbered offspring, whose vocation
is to be an unearned billionaire,
buying and spending unearned veneration.
Charity is fine. Philanthropy
is surplus value’s subtle marketing,
minor heat loss in the form of piety.
Yo, muse; shit’s fucked and bullshit; this I sing:
what is the point of having an election
when The New York Times has got a Styles section?

4 thoughts on “Mundus et Infans

  1. I got you figgered, Jake – you really have always wanted to be a sonneteer, but figured you’d be dismissed like an antimacassar on grandma’s couch-arm if you didn’t first manage to cut that N-otch in your gun that stands for N-ovel.

    Reason I say this is cause it’s clear that having put that issue to bed, you’re taking your sonneteering much more seriously – this is much better than many of your previous – one can sense the rage stalking between the iambs like a tiger behind the bars of its cage …

    1. PS – I got a great idea for your next book (non-fiction).

      It will combine three areas in which you like to play, and will be entitled something like:

      “A Selection of Wines to Accompany Performances of Bach and Readings from Donne”

      If that does not make the NYT best-seller list simply on grounds of snob-appeal, then I’m Hugh Selwyn Mauberley.

      Give it some thought – I think the world is ready for it and you’re the guy to write it.

  2. Get together and send wine reminders to the public sector about who really inspires, who builds this tire fire higher.

    Grubby fingers off billionaire club remainders,

    File your complaints with Maude’s friend,

    No, not the Nihilist,

    The Joker video artist.

    To: Bunch of slobs bitching about being tired and wanting someone to send them some money gram wire.

    From: Winston Pickett

    Subject: Tire fire roasted brass rings for old money offspring

    Dear bums,

    Get a job.

    Love,

    Those rich fucks.

    P.S.
    Some things never change.

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