The 99% Anne Reynolds
There’s something about the giant tureen lid of St Paul’s that makes me want to lift it at one edge to release the steam of protest. Siiiiisssssssssssssss! I read the hand-outs at Tent City they said that capitalism is stifling creativity and I’m one of the oppressed 99%. But it’s human nature to pay with tokens because you can’t transfer a cow online and cash is as likely to produce a cure for AIDS as the next ‘I-don’t-know-what.’ Lead us, oh great Moloch, lead us through the market’s brouhaha. The suits belong to a pious sect doomed to roam the square mile playing finger cymbals and chanting time is money, time is money time is money, time is mo-o-ney. False purveyors of hope speak of a social economy while workers are crucified on the hands of the factory clock as currency lubricates the cogs and wheels of an automaton, pre-programmed to write Carpe Diem until the meteors strike or we vanquish the paltry 1%. 36
