ignomine divus
ignomine parma
ignomine spiritus
She was feeding me dinner, and it was going well. I had high hopes, and she invited to take my my little saucer dish of Key Lime Pie to the living room where we could catch at least Final Jeopardy on the tube, from the local NBC affiliate, or maybe the Fox franchise near the coast.
She wasn't wearing any underwear, and it wasn't some strange intuition, or divination, but I could see the maddening swells and the very crease of her. There were plastic covers on all the furniture, and I was thinking, "what if I had met Great Grandma when she was but a sporting lass?". Part of me knew Great Grandma was never a sporting lass, per se, but this was clearly the tupperware version of a nude selfie, I thought, and something came to the fore within me.
I had high hopes, as stated earlier, that maybe, an arm around her shoulders, I would get to feel her boob against my arm pit; this was the simple hopes of a man.
It was attention whoring, all of social media, with some even paying to get eyes on them, and when it was put in my feed, I would smile and look away, thinking that was their "creme de la creme" best content hand picked for me and paid some seventeen cents for me to see it. I had practiced the same economics in ministry, donating basically my personal income into getting eyes on ministry content; and I was thinking, if only I had shown a little leg.
If only.
It was such, the more a contrivance, the more a sensation, and the television and newspaper dollars was long on the way to migrating towards the internet, long on the way such that Meta and Google were monstrously huge already. But I had heard an entrepreneur saying a while back that Meta advertising was a really good value, and it was basically easy to get into, if one had the cash reserve to fund a good ad campaign. One, seemingly any one with a few dollars, could catch lightning in a bottle and find instant fame at the cost of pennies per viewing.
The Magic Million was still a dream in the lower class, of course, that Million Dollars that would be long gone by the end of the first month, and for many the dream was becoming grosser, with social media fame taking a turn, the hunger for attention, and not the Magic Million, but the lovely hundreds of millions. Such that it was "one received musical performance and suddenly I got an empire".
Was a time, a job was in the dream, part of the American dream, a good paying job with a modicum of prestige, a bit of salt on the end of it, as they say. With a modest house, not today's "dream house", but a modest three bedroom bungalow that one could own outright one day, not the collection of debt and worry that we are pitched today in the real estate market--something on the order of perfection.
Even the Bible says "do not cast your pearls before swine".
And I too, think to myself, what would I do with a dream home, a home of dreams, when I'm quite stuck sideways, wedged uncomfortably, in the happenstance space of the very real world?
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