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James Howard Kunstler: A Distant Sound of Churning

The sad fact is we don't want to go where history wants to take us: to a smaller human imprint on the planet, with all that implies. This is true especially of the intellectual avant-garde, who can't imagine a world without the joys of perpetual techno-narcissistic novelty, of levitating skyscraper cities with hanging gardens and flying cars, full of girls with green nail-polish in get-ups so fantastic mere mortals could never have dreamed them up, flaunting hand-held gadgets so miraculous that life itself seems besides the point. Oh, shimmering future! Oh Ray Kurzweil and your nano-ladder to the worm-holes of forever! This Ancien Régime is about to be swept away on the tsunami of its own futility. The failure of leadership around the world is now complete. Nobody who needs to get it gets it. Our own money management team here in the USA is in a box even worse than Europe's. It's not even a hall of mirrors. It's a broke-down Winnebago with moldy upholstery and the propane line is leaking inside. Everybody's wondering if Ben Bernanke is going to light a cigarette. What else can he do? If he doesn't keep the QE-ZIRP racket going, the wheels will come off the Winnebago. If he lights that American Spirit, she'll blow. The US banking system can easily implode, anyway, if a European nation or two opts out of ECB-peristroika. God knows who is a counter-party to whom in the mammoth international clusterfuck of accounting fraud that passes for a commerce in capital.

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