Here we have a “green” economy, where an unnatural resource is fully recycled. On the ironic left we see rentiers, feeding the talking heads of the owned media, the tame think tanks and the indentured politicians. Which is which? Can’t say, they more screaming than talking these days and it has become too hard to tell them apart.

Beneath these “fowl” creatures thrive another breed who, silent as the servant class on the great houses of old, pick through the wasteland below for the shiny objects excreted and pass them back up, one to the next, There are invisible hands in this economy, they belong to these stealthy creatures, but they gather not for the wealth of the nation but for the rentiers who pay them.

Where are we, those of us who don’t live in the great houses either upstairs or down? See the specks in the background? That’s us, dots on a grid, at best a target market, more typically a target in a market. And it’s a Darwinian one, at that, where monopoly trumps—if I can still us that word this way—equality; where empathy is no longer selected for.

Hopeless? Sure seems that way, given our only hope for getting out from under the mess are the screaming heads who’ve made it,