The line between daydream and delusion is a fine one, in my case particularly so, but in the recent posts in conversation with Matt Wesley, I have imagined being invited to serve on a panel at a highest level conference for wise counselors in family governance work, for the world's wealthiest families. I imagine the title of the panel might be, "Wisdom and Folly in Family Governance Work Considered as a Public Good." On the panel, in my dream, are (besides me) the most highly regarded counselors: James E. Hughes, Keith Whitaker, Dr. James Grubman, Dr. Dennis Jaffee, John A. Warnick, Marty Carter, Matt Wesley, Dr. Lee Hausner, or a subset of such luminaries. The moderator is Patricia Angus, as one we all look up to, and because like Cordelia she says little, and sees much. She could bring order from the many forces at work. Cordelia, in the play, comes from love, not just for the King her father, but for all who live under his disordered rule, the deranged body politic for which the mad king is the emblem. Without Cordelia, the King's poor Fool would be poor indeed; the cosmos and community would be out of joint; the King's suffering and illumination to no effect. Whatever the outcome of that panel, whether tragic or comic, I could die a happy courtier, my long fool's errand run.
A learned reader, in the Dynastic Wealth business, following the conversation with Matt Wesley about the meaning of Gifthub, and, for that matter, of Wealth Bondage, writes me to ask, if to understand WB would require a "soteriology of grace." I take the question in good spirit as a sincere desire to plumb the depths of my ouvre. I am reminded of a remark Swift once made, "that a hole may appear wondrous deep, when it is only wondrous dark." Probably, we are all going too deep. But I will try to answer the question.
To redeem Wealth Bondage and those within it would require a sotieriology of grace, yes, a miracle, an awakening. I had to look it up on Wikipedia, to know what soteriology is. I misread it as being derived from sortilege. Such is my relationship to grace, more like a man blowing on a prayer wheel, bought in an arcade, or casting cards to read a fortune. Wealth Bondage, as a wise reader once noted, is The Garden of Earthly Delights, or Edmund’s Spenser’s Garden where Circe keeps the sailors, including Ulysses, enchanted. When the magic is lifted, one sailor, Grylle says he wants to remain a pig. “Let Grylle be Grylle and have his hoggish mind” says the narrator. In other words, Wealth Bondage is life seen by moderns as a Free Market where all is for sale, and the most apt language is always financial (social investment, social return, four human capitals including wisdom, love, spirituality, whatever is a pearl beyond price). Wealth Bondage is vulgarity in all its forms. It is the alpha and the omega, the source and end of all being. There is no 'outside' of it, because it represents the limits of our moral imagination.
Paradise, as some Wealth Advisors call it, where the wealthy go, and try to stay, unless deported back to the harsh realities that govern lesser lives, seems to me to be a form of Wealth Bondage. (It is also a brilliant book, Strangers in Paradise, perhaps the best book in the field in many years, on how to maintain dynastic wealth over generations, a goal unworthy of its author, it seems to me, and one from which he may some day awaken, by the grace of God, or by falling on his head, if he trips, but a common goal in the field we call "Family Governance.") That vision of an isolated Paradise reminds me of Circe’s Garden. It also reminds me of the Floating Islands of Lagodo in Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, or the blue light across the bay for which Gatsby yearns. Petronius’s Satyricon, apparently, was among the sources for Fitzgerald. “They said you was high class” sang Elvis, “But that was just a lie. You ain’t nothin’ but a hounddog.” In other words, if not grace, then laughter. When it works right, laughter is not laughter at another (a form of boundary maintenance, a way of casting others out), but inclusive, a recognition of a shared humanity, fallible, and physical, and temporal. (If Dr. Grubman's view of paradise for the rich, apart from the rest of humankind, is healed not by grace, may it be laughter, not at anyone, but among us all, in a great wave of civic friendship, binding us all, high and low, as we all exchange roles, handy dandy, Lord to Beggar and back.)
Drawing on Greek thought, Martha Nussbaum reminds us that Goodness is as Fragile as an earthly garden; it fails unless tended, and may fail even if tended. Beyond our reason or frail powers, is fate, destiny, providence, chance, and moral luck. I play up the Christian on Gifthub more than I have any right to do. But the Gospels are familiar, and Spenser, Nussbaum, Petronius, Shakespeare, Swift, Fitzgerald, not so much. I believe all things pass, and that dynasty, the dream of it, is at conspicuous variance with every wisdom tradition. It is like trying to stop Fortune’s wheel from turning, or to halt time at mid-summer. “Remember man that thou are dust and into dust thou shalt return.” “Remember, Caesar, thou art mortal.” “All things are sliding under the moon.” “Nothing gold can stay.” The vanitas tradition. "Vanity, saith the Preacher, all is Vanity." The lesson of Carnival, or Vanity Fair. The lessons of Lent and Mardi Gras. The lesson as common as graves, and as hard to accept.
We are all brothers and sisters under the costumes. The king will become a pauper and the pauper a king as the wheel of fortune turns, as the seasons turn, as the generations pass, as we all like chimney sweepers come to dust, in Shakespeare’s lyric. What makes me better? What makes me so special? Who am I to point fingers? Who am I to give instruction? Whatever Wise Counselors to Flourishing Dynastic Families have done, I have done worse and for less money. I am a fool, a failure, a man who once had shirtsleeves and now has none. That is the persona here, or alternative identity, or me under my own name, pretending to be me. Grace may come, but “Phil,” the speaker on Gifthub, the Hack, has no ability to pray. The nearest priest, Father Brennan, has been defrocked, for reasons the Church has never made public, under the terms of the settlement. Brennan, now a secular priest, is no help whatsoever. He channels neither grace nor wisdom. He is a toxic healer, carrying the plague, or pox, from house to house, or scene room to screen room, in the darker satire of WB, where it draws on Genet’s scabrous “The Balcony,” where the Bishop is the Whore’s horsey, and the theme is the abuse of power, under the Nazi occupation in Paris, and its erotic delights, considered as a parable of the deranged body politic. Brennan has promise. I tell him if he enjoyed it more, sinned bigger and more boisterously, it could count as satire, and he might not go to jail, even if he is ultimately caught with his pants down, yet again.
You can see I find it painful to be so literal, so humorless. Brennan may be a sinner, but he deserves his privacy. Who am I to out him? And it is an insult to the Ideal Reader to whom my words are always addressed, as if the Ideal Reader required a cribsheet, like a schoolboy who has barely read the Text. As Dr. Amrit Chadwallah, Senior Adjunct in Charge of Hidden Meaning, here in Wealth Bondage, said to me in the bar last night, after work, “Did you really have to do that? Make up all that stuff about your sources? It is your whole intellectual history, plus a lot of books you never read, the ones I lent you and you never gave back, the ones Tutor reposes on in the Dumpster. Are these people really unable to read Gifthub without being told what it means? I thought you said they were the world class super-smarties. What were their Board Scores? Where did they prep? Their parents should ask for a refund. This blog is hardly AP English Material.”
Explaining a joke is not funny. Explaining the explanation, risks starting all over again with a new joke. Satire works best, I believe, when sublimated. Naming names, or coming too close to real people, as with Fr. Brennan a moment ago, or explaining all the allusions, symbolism, conceits, subplots, and subtext, and the inter-textuality of it all, strips from her the disguises in which naked truth most decorously appears, and brings it back to the ancient dance of the priest and the goat, with the priest wearing the flayed skin of the sacrificial goat that the priest will become, if the laugh goes against him. The only person I can heal is me, and I am sick unto death like all the others. If I feel I am any better, then I am the Pharisee who kneels to thank God that God has not made him like other men.
I have no paying clients. ( That may surprise some of you.) If I required steady patronage, as opposed to foraging in garbage bins and sleeping rough, I could not write like this. “The bow is bent, make from the shaft,” as Lear says to the Fool who crosses him by speaking truth, even in jests and pantomime, which is the Fool’s job. This upside down, inside out, style is only learned in brokenness and surrender, writing under surveillance, as one vulnerable to reprisal, by my immediate superior or the higher-ups.
My resume went for a time straight up, then straight down. All the way up to Gothic Quadrangles with high windows, and a Porter at the Gates, with a Master's Garden, where once I sat with with my own Morals Tutor, discussing Wittgenstein, and all the way down to teaching insurance sales in Birmingham, AL, in a yellow-tinted training room with no windows, and, it seemed, no way of escaping. I have had years, decades, without a voice, or an educated thought partner, other than the many figments of my addled imagination, like Dr. Chadwallah, The Happy Tutor, and Richard (Dick) Minim, of the East Coast Minims, the heir to the Hyena Dog Chow Fortune, and now Senator (D) from MA. I said Brennan is real, and he is. But that is not his real name. And he was not a priest, but some kind of veterinarian. He just pretended to be a priest to seduce women.
I appreciate readers trying to understand me, like the Doctors did at the Asylum for Lunatic Counselors to Dynastic Wealth, before the insurance lapsed, and I was turned back out on the street. I hope I have not hurt or offended any real advisors to serious wealth, particularly any wise and virtuous ones. They are rare and worth their weight in gold. (In fact, that is how they determine their annual retainer, at least in the Emirates, by sitting in one pan of a scale, like the scales of justice, while the client heaps gold in the other pan, or so I heard, maybe in my alcoholic dreams.) This is about wisdom traditions, not us. The traditions speak, when conjured, but the spirits who come are not always gracious. Mine I fear, or know, are from below.
I hope we are now good with my most educated, best placed, readers, with no offense taken. You are honorable people. Wealth Bondage, The Den of Iniquity, would never hire you. I checked your websites. You are on the up and up. I would like to be cordially included in the best circles, your circles, or tolerated on the margins, or if cast out with the trash, gently, so as not to awaken The Happy Tutor, who is sleeping it off with Dr. Rabelais in the Dumpster, after sneaking into the Costume Ball in Paradise Hall last night, having gone as Doctors, in hooded robes, resplendent Scholar’s garb, from the Dark Ages. Judging from their noonday stupor, I guess it must have been quite a party. I hope some day to be invited. Then I will see for myself. At this point I am just making it up, as you can probably tell.
Poor Tutor, I saw him returning today stooped and dejected from a Client Engagement, helping the Wealth Creator discern his life purpose. "What is the matter, Tutor?," I asked the gaunt figure. "I sold my soul," he replied, "to the highest bidder and it did not cover lunch." Yet, I noticed he had managed to cage a bottle of bum wine. Wisdom Consulting does have its perks.
"The nice thing about wisdom is that you can sell it over and over without diminishing your own supply," I told Tutor, hoping to cheer him up, and maybe earn a pull on the bottle. "Virtue," he said "works the same way, if you get your act together. Consider your own Virtue, Phil. How often have we two sold that?" Ah, those were the days, when pimped by Wisdom, my Virtue went for more than a Nanny's weekly wage!
The crossroads are where Oedipus slew his father; where in Athens the pharmakos was burned as a human sacrifice to purify the sick society; where Hermes the Divine Trickster, he of the two faces, stood his erect cock pointing the wrong road to travelers; and where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil to learn to play the blues guitar. Two roads both crooked, one rising into the woods to a ruined house, the other going you don't know where: Here at the crossroads you have a guide who has at heart only your getting lost.
Good manners divides social space into "the acceptable" and the "unacceptable." What is unacceptable may, or even must, be done, but must not be discussed. It must be done, if it be done, in secret. What must be done in secret and not discussed includes the lower bodily functions, such as defecation, burping, micturation, and copulation. In the body politic necessary but unmentionable functions include reintegration of enormous drug profits into the legitimate economy. Also necesssary but unmentionable, or at least permitted if done in secret and not discovered, are fraud, cronyism, injustice, lawslessness, and self-dealing in high places. Where light and dark sides come together are in Wealth Bondage, in a place like Skull and Bones, where those in charge meet like pirates running the ship of state to privatize (aggrandize to themselves) public goods. Where also light and dark meet is in the long and honorable tradition of the Fool - the king's mini-me, a comedic, strutting, piratical captain of the ship of fools, with an enameled stars and stripes on one lapel and an enameled Jolly Roger on the other. In philanthropy, as well mannered as we are, we deal only in the light. And the dark delights itself behind the veil our blindness perpetuates. So, we must turn the world inside out, before we can turn it upside down. The change that begins with us is foolishness, mad, obscene, boisterous, not unlike the parties held in the Tombs of Wealth Bondage by our betters raising a skull in a toast to our confusion. "Here is to all the fools who let us get away with this!" Who, then, is the greater fool? The knave in the tombs laughing at us? Or we prancing about dressed as a motley King, and laughing back? Well, less said the better, I guess. Mum's the word. What happens in Wealth Bondage stays in Wealth Bondage. If anyone asks, deny Wealth Bondage even exists. Act serious and ever so moral and the duped public will never know what pirates they have put in charge of their most precious heritage. "To good manners and all it must not mention!"
| I don't want to take anything away from Phil Cubeta, the Master of Revels here. He is the kind of middle brow straightman that Candidia always picks to act as her feckless flunky and foil. Behind his back she calls him "totally pathetic," and who am I to disagree with she who rules us all. What I do want to protest, though, is my being confined to this Blue Box which always already circumscribes (i.e., from the Latin to "inscribe around") my discourse, reducing its credibility and putting all I write under suspicion, in my case totally undeserved, given my lifelong pursuit of excellence. |
I would also like to point out in my official capacity as Senior Wealth Bondage Fellow in Charge of Hermeneutics with special reference to Hidden Meanings, is that these Blue Boxes produce a kind hernia or involution or rupture in the sensitive membranes of our shared textuality. It both limns and violates what - yes, following Derrida - I can only call the Hymen separating Gifthub from Wealth Bondage, or Philanthropy in General, from Wealth Systems in General!
That being said, I do not find this particular aporia stimulating or productive. No jouissance to speak of, really. It is all a bit too labored. You call call it post-post-modern if you wish, but it strikes me as Ancient, in fact a throw back to Menippius himself, the Cynic poet who work descends to us via Seneca the Younger, Diogenes, Sterne, Swift, and Wilde, to name a few.
Beyond that, beyond the whole question of Origins (and Origin-ality) this Blue Box forces into the foreground the whole question of Authorial Intent. Phil is not "inside the Blue Box," nor is the content here subject to his control. I kiss no one's hand and fawn upon no man, least of all Phil. Thus, what is inside the box exceeds the boundaries of the text that is Gifthub, both inside it and outside it, thereby producing its own heteroglossollalia, if I may be permitted to coin that striking term.
Who then will stop the endless play of signifiers set in motion by the Blue Box? What Author Function will wrap all within the Horizon of His/Her/Its Intentionality? Beats me, really.
You know what this is like, Tom, it is as if you were reading along in Finnegans Wake and all of a sudden you stumble on a biographical write up on Richard Ellman, Joyce's profound critic, but one who would not write about Joyce until many years later. Now, if Joyce had quoted (proleptically, to be sure) his unborn critic, and had included that quotation inside some kind of Blue Box, would that tend to still the free play of the Signifier, or only make its motions ever more catastrophic to our readerly readings of that writerly text, if you know what I mean? (c.f., Roland Barthes).
Anyway, as I averred above, it beats me. I hope others will devote their life to this mystery. I have my hands full deciphering the chatter coming in through the phone tap on Gunderson. I am supposed to frame him for the Valerie Plame deal and get him to Gitmo after the hit men on the Freedom Team cut off his clothes, give him a drugged enema, and throw him in chains onto a plane bound for Cuba. So far, all I have on him is a bunch of repetititive verbiage about Vision in Philanthropy. But he sounds guilty. What the hell, under torture, I am sure he will confess to something. I think I will just doctor the evidence and be done with it. The trial will be secret. It will never come back to bite me. I get paid by the job. Every prisoner in the Freedom Gulag raises the stock price of Wealth Bondage Prisons International by $500,000 and I get options. So, Gunderson, kiss Council on Foundations goodbye.
- Dr. Amrit Chadwallah, Adjunct in Charge of Forensic Hermeneutics in Wealth Bondage
Just a word, if I may, on a new editorial convention: the Blue Box. For some time now I have been under considerable economic strain. Gifthub has still to reach a breakeven. My personal finances are a shambles. I had one of those subprime loans and they are taking my house. The repo man from KIVA Micro-Finance has just repossesed my car. My wife left me and took the kids back to her mother's trailer. The Dumpster thing is no longer a joke. Anyway, my generous patron, Candidia Cruikshanks, CEO of our esteemed sponsor, Wealth Bondage, has been trying to take advantage of my straightened circumstances to get me to add little advertorials, editorial "Words of Wisdom from Candidia," and product placements for Wealth Bondage. As a man of integrity, I said, "No, absolutely not! My reader expect the straight story, not some bs from Wealth Bondage." Well, she pulled my funding, and after sleeping on it, we worked out what I think you will agree is an honorable solution. I will indeed include Wealth Bondage advertorials, and product placements, as well as whatever wisdom Candidia may provide, inset into Gifthub, but will clearly mark them as such. Hence the Blue Box.
Whenever you see a Blue Box you will know that the content is ported over from my generous patron and esteemed funder. I do not speak for her and she does not speak for me. You can judge that content for yourself, much as you would an advertisement on tv. Or you may choose not to read this content in the Blue Box. It is up to you as an informed consumer of Wealth Bondage and its anti-type Giftub. Above all, you will know that anything that is not in a Blue Box is pure me. Totally honest. No fakery. No trickery. No tainted content. Nothing Carnivalesque. No dialogism. No Mennipean satire. Just me, in propria persona: earnest, direct, plainspoken, moderate, well informed, decorous, businesslike, sane, and balanced, like, for example, The NY Times, Philanthromedia, Give and Take or Steve Gunderson.
Now, I know from your calls and letters that some readers are offended by the admixture of Dominance and Submission themes in a blog about Wealthy Donors and those who seek Donations, whether or not on their knees. Whereas Wealth Bondage is, I am told, a disgusting farrago of sexuality, textuality, expose, unwlecome truth-telling and satire, Gifthub is and should remain a moderate and reliable source of objective news on the giving front within the accepted conventions of prime time media. Gifthub is for a family audience. It should remain inoffensive and wholesome as befits the topic of philanthropy. I totally agree. I believe that the Blue Box should solve your problem and mine too. I get continued funding and all you have to do is look the other way, as you look the other way when ads come on, or when you pass a homeless person on the street, or the newscaster lies in your face, or a presidential spokesperson lies to you, or when your family and friends begin to disappear from the street, all in the name of Freedom. If you can look past all that, Friends, you can ignore whatever Wealth Bondage provides inside the Blue Box.
Seriously, in real life, in a real tv show, or in entertainment, there is no firewall between the sponsors, the funders, the writers, performers, and the stringpullers. Wealth Bondage content and product placement and war footage and think tank thinkers are festooned throughout the prime time news. You even see little Cans of Wealth Bondage Lite in scenes from Sex and the City, placed there by the Wealth Bondage advertising firm. At Gifthub, I flatly refuse to sell out. All Wealth Bondage content is quarantined inside the Blue Box where it can safely be ignored. At no point is the main text outside the Blue Box tainted by Wealth Bondage ownership and editorial control. I am pure. You are pure. All we have to do, you and I, is to totally ignore any post inside the Blue Box. How cool is that?
If I were starting Gifthub all over again, I might call it, "Citizens Choose: Blogging Existential Choice in a Mad World." Whether you are a giver, or whether you consider yourself a philanthropist or not, we all have to answer these two questions. They were given to me by a Jesuit friend who asks these questions of his students:
- What kind of person do you want to be?
- In what kind of world?
These are the questions we will be asked by St Peter when he goes through our permanent file (via Homeland Security probably) and admits or denies our application for Eternal Life. What kind of person did you turn out to be in the end? Did you leave the world in at least as good condition as you found it?
A good answer might involve fidelity to commitments to God and Neighbor. Good answers might include a life devoted to teaching, to public service (not just being a politician), a life devoted to the arts and culture, a life devoted to nonprofit service, a career in nursing, the ministry, as fireman, soldier or cop, or a life devoted to a business enterprise that steers an honest course, taking into account stakeholders as well as stockholders. Philanthropy might come into it too. Each of us will answer for our existential choices, even if our minds were elsewhere when we made them, as we multitasked, compromised, and slid through life with divided attention. By eternal life I don't mean to prejudge the possibility of an afterlife. "Eternity," as Blake said, "is in love with the productions of time." You have enough eternity between two heart beats to make a choice that could change the verdict.
The nature of the second question is that we cannot leave a better world all by ourselves. We can only do so in concert with others. That gets us into the arts, the media, poetry and prophecy, into keeping alive ethical traditions, into giving in all senses, and into activism, organizing, and political action. Those are the subjects I try to treat here.
Speaking of Oscar Wilde, wasn't he the one who wrote, "Sincerity is of all acts the hardest to keep up"? Words to that effect, anyway. Let's ask Lady Bracknell if I may be playful or not. Well, no, she said not. I must be Earnest. The problem is, you see, is that I am not Earnest; I am Worthy, Jack Worthy. All I could possibly do is pretend to be Earnest. And that would be quite inauthentic.
From about 1999 to 2004 I myself was in Wealth Bondage. I
appreciate all of you who have collaborated with me in covering up the
shameful truth for all these years. But, yes, I blush to
admit it now, but I was in Wealth Bondage where I served as an
apprentice to The Happy Tutor,
Dungeon Master to the
Stars. In that capacity, I worked with the wealthiest people
in America, the creme de la creme, pandering to their financial and other needs, all up and
down Maslow's hierarchy from the need for food, drink, shelter and sex
on up to the need for love, self-esteem, social status, money, and power, right on up to the need for meaning, truth, beauty, a lasting legacy, and salvation. I knew it
was all about enslaving these
leaders, as they have enslaved others, by playing to their egos and need for various fetishes (money, branded merchandise, honors, the illusion of immortality). I
damn well, all hypocrisy apart, that this was all about increasing the market and mind share of
Wealth Bondage, America's Favorite Company, but I needed a job, I needed the money, and I
prostituted my God-given gifts to increase sales of Wealth Bondage products, services, and the overall "Wealth Bondage Experience." Yes, I did. I was a
whore among whores, wallowing in my financial success, and the phenomenal growth of Wealth Bondage as it has come to dominate not only the economy, but government and the nonprofit world as well. (See Mistress Lucy for more on Social Capital Markets.)
I finally hit bottom in Wealth Bondage on April 1 of 2004, when I was picked up by Dallas Vice Squad, as I wandered around the Galleria, naked, handing out promotional fliers for the Wealth Bondage Masquerade Ball in which the wealthiest citizens of Dallas dance with the Devil, or whomever they please, to the tune of "Amazing Grace." "God Save the Queen," or "America The Beautiful." After serving a month in solitary, I was released into the custody of my colleague and friend, Captain Blowtorch, Ride-Master for the Hogs of Heaven. Through his intercession, I was Born Again on May 1, 2004, in the Little Church of the Pines, in Rockwall, TX. There I accepted Jesus as my Personal Savior. I was washed in the blood of the lamb. All my sins were forgiven, going backward and also forward in time. So you can't bring up the old sins, ok? And you can't bing up the new ones either. "Once saved always saved."
When I was young and foolish I lived in Wealth Bondage, that Sodom and Gomorrah of the Free Market. Now that I have been Born Again, I help people escape their bondage to material things and to embrace the fundamental tenets of Primitive Christianity ("Faith, Hope and Charity, and the greatest of these is charity"). To that noble end, I opened, Gifthub, in the alley out behind Wealth Bondage, in the Happy Tutor's Dumpster, which he lets me use as his contribution to the public good, not that he ever owned it anyway. Operating like Diogenes, out of the Dumpster where Wealth Bondage abuts the Public Square, I accost passersbye, in my newfound capacity as Morals Tutor to America's Wealthiest Families, helping them find meaning and purpose in their lives through philanthropy.
I am grateful to the CEO of Wealth Bondage, Candidia Cruikshanks, for
her generous support of my Charitable Initiative. Without Mistress Candidia Cruikshanks, Gifthub would not be remotely possible. Not only does Candidia
provide the funding (or as she calls it the "social investment") for
Gifthub, but also, as a high engagement social investor, she provides
daily, if not hourly, correction, control, and discipline. Without her
money, her metrics, her oversight, and direction, I would never have
managed to escape Wealth Bondage for the good of
humankind. (Candidia acknowledges the assistance of Master Holden Karnofsky, recently from her Wealth Bondage Hedge Fund Division, who has been charged with optimizing the results of my philanthropic production by disciplining me to adhere to strict metrics. Holden can't manage what he can't measure and has suppressed my penchant for Naked Dance, Tomfoolery, Juggling, Carnival, and Prophecy.)
Although they began as polar opposites (like God and Mammon) the synergies between Gifthub and Wealth Bondage have proven
mutually beneficial (like those between God and Mammon). While Gifthub is a true nonprofit, providing Moral
Instruction to America's Wealthiest Families pro bono publico,
Wealth Bondage has also kept up with the times, evolving from a Bordello into a double bottom line social venture, a
community of saints in which nature meets culture for profit &
pleasure plus social benefit, like Ameya Preserve only more upscale and tasteful. The Wealth Bondage Scene Rooms now serve a dual purpose: They provide all the services and amenities you would normally associate with a high
class Wealth Bondage Bordello (bar, legislature, casino, think tank, a
madhouse, law courts, dungeons, torture cells, medical facilities,
moral biography on demand, corporate style hierarchies of dominance and submission, speech
writers, marketers, satanic masses, erotic rituals of production and
consumption, blasphemous speeches, advertising directed at children,
inversion of all that is holy, and free music and beer during Happy Hour on Wednesday night). But
these same Scene Rooms now also function as scenes of instruction, and
of moral rehabilitation (Wealth Holders are spanked, disciplined,
subjected to medical treatments, given electroshocks, liposuction or
face lifts without anesthetic, public relations make overs, given confession from a "priest," strapped to the rack, hung by their
hands from the ceiling, or bound, beaten and branded, etc.) in order to
help them confess, repent and reform. All in good fun. Clients love it.
Wealth Bondage is addictive. Market Forces prevail and no one goes home hungry or sober for that matter.
It was fun, and I will never forget the friends I made there, and the moral diseases we shared, but that is all behind me now. I am personally out of Wealth Bondage for good, but remain on good terms to promote synergy across the silos. In referring business to Wealth Bondage from Gifthub, I am leveraging key assets for systemic social change and creating a
virtuous circle: Wealthy clients referred into Wealth Bondage for
treatment = more money to me at Gifthub via Gifts, Sponsorships, or
Social Investments from Wealth Bondage to me = More goodwill and better blogging on my part = More clients sucked into Wealth Bondage via referrals from Gifthub. Around and around in a virtuous upward spiral until ecological and moral collapse, and
the Return of Christ sometime in 2009, or soon thereafter. At which point I get Raptured and you strangle in your own spit, unless you get saved like me, by becoming my client here at Gifthub. (I work here strictly pro bono publico. I disdain filthy lucre! To pay my generosity forward, you may toss into the Dumpster, old tv sets, dead kittens, worn out clothing, magazines, newspapers, unread volumes of poetry or philosophy or whatever trash you have on hand by way of your contribution to a better world.)
socially conscious consumer of Wealth Bondage, you can also be assured that
every time you hire a prostitute or other professional service provider, in Wealth Bondage 5% of of your fee
goes to Gifthub. (For more on embedded giving see Mistress Lucy.)
You can feel good about your next spanking, or other Private Client Service of your
choice. The more time and money and attention you spend in
Wealth Bondage the better and less materialistic the world will be
through my efforts in the Dumpster on behalf of Christian Philanthropy
contra Wealth Bondage. So be sure to visit Wealth Bondage on your way home from work. Tell them Master Phil sent you! My Brothers-and-Sisters-in -Christ, we appreciate your business. May God forgive us all, Fools and Knaves alike.