The science of politics in a dystopian future has no real hard and fast rules. Modern experience tells us that personal motivations can sway nations, if they come from one with enough influence. It takes little to imagine despotic oligarchs making selfish and short-sighted choices that the less fortunate must suffer the consequences of.
I often worry that I cut corners too readily, that I overtrim the fat from the meat, and end up with something so lean it has no flavor. I am ever grateful, spitefully, shamefully, for the popularity of pulpy media. It encourages me to write more freely when I see a successful work I, being as indulgent in my pride as can be tolerated, deem to be shoddy for one reason or another.
Envy and Pride. In my frequent efforts to control my relationship with the world, comparing myself to others never fails to catch me. Good enough is a curse, a phrase uttered by those who do not possess it, and shunned by those who do. If you call something good enough, it surely falls short of what you desire. Likewise, one often chases perfection whilst claiming only to seek ‘good enough’.
In the end, I think I am best served by a mantra that never fails to bring a smile to me. “What’s good enough for me, is good enough for me.”
In the end, we are our own debtors. Only I can pardon myself the sentence I have delivered. I, as a Mad God, have one hand upon the gospel of my own making, and the other drenched in the blood of shortcomings known only to myself. The fat is trimmed by my say so, and the culling is concealed in the production.
It is by my hand too, that butter finds it’s way into the pan, that seasoning is applied. If I am overzealous in my pruning, it falls to me to correct my course.
Finally, the dish must be sent away with whatever garnish is just. And it is up to the customer to make of it what they will; beyond the doors of the kitchen, it is out of my hands.
Seeds of Fear 