Who gives a good flying shit
If you get laid or I am loved
In this God-damned mess of a world?
Now, there are children starving
Homelessness and illness rampant
The climate is becoming Hell.
We cannot be distracted
There is no more time to prepare
Lust and dependency must wait.
And if we’re both too old now
To have our demands satisfied
There’s a war that we have to win.
If future generations
Are ever going to have the chance
To have the joys we threw away.
To save the world
And of no use
Playwriting is a three dimensional art, but so is cooking or designing a building. The other thing that they have in common is that they expensive and will never be the same again. How do we adjust? Are we able to return to telling a tale by the firelight and enrapturing a hungry crowd? Are we able to make a simple meal from basic foods that is healthy and will feed a thousand? Is that the true metaphor of Jesus and the fish and wine? And can we learn to build a clean and sturdy house that has only the room we need, with the most efficient storage that any man can afford? That is powered by the wind and moved by the sun. If we can’t do any of these things, then our Civilization may actually be doomed.