Money might look like an asset, but it’s a philosophy. And, like some languages, it simply threatens, cajoles or beats down any remaining opposition, regardless of its importance or sophistication. See, the thing about cash is that it doesn’t compromise. It doesn’t have to. Ever. You can’t put cash in the can, and when you do? It just grows.

Cash dollars and gold are -made to serve time in prison-, there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop them from making more of themselves by killing anything and everything in sight. Or, perhaps more generously, recasting it in the shape of something that cash manipulates in order to produce its famous flows of ‘reproductive splendor’ known as ‘wealth’. This is, approximately, where some vampiric idiots (and or their lethal collectives) are continuously drenched in the ejaculated concentrate of power and object abundance resultant from the shattered lives, environments, souls, and dreams of entire continents of living beings and whole epochs of human history.

Every time money f*cks someone to death? There’s more of it suddenly. Ever notice that? How, you know, one day there’s a living forest that is effectively older than the universe itself because of the vitally compressed living and relationally sophisticated diversity there protected — and the next day there is a charred wasteland, and a nice pile of cold, hard, cash in someone’s palm. Ever notice that? Money might look like an asset, but it’s a philosophy. And your children and planet are its playthings, and the problem is this: its about as deviant as a rabidly sadistic maniac can get, and it simply cannot play rough enough to suit its insatiable desires. Money is a philosophy. A philosophy of rape. If you want a future you can count on, money is its middle name.