I am acutely aware that I am more fighting a changing storm than trying to traverse the distance to safety from the corruption of this society. Avenues that allowed me to work and think in the past will likely close themselves off -- I probably couldn't return to Romania, for example, as the rental prices have risen with the influx of capital. Which is disappointing, given the culture, the theatre and the music that I had begun to make the acquaintance of. But completely cut off from the basic ability to live and earn a living stateside, I have to find ways of both surviving, and making a worthwhile contribution to things with my life. And that would seem to be through writing, as theatre is notoriously collaborative, and I'm not a musician.
So I must write, if I am to exist.
It is very important to keep the upstream truths foregrounded: inside the industrial prosperity, there is a lot of corruption, and those who have fallen afoul of the powerful networks find it very difficult to survive -- not in the sense of having a normal life, but in the sense of actually preserving the life of the organism, together with the activity of the mind. I'm clearly not the only person this has happened to; frankly, I think this reality has conditioned the experience of everyone in the culture, and they'll likely talk about it, if prompted. The oddity in my case is that I stayed in the large city (as there was no other home), and stayed in the mix of things, intellectually, as well as in my specific fields.
But I'm surrounded by very craven people, part of the healthy preponderance who live comfortable lives in what the democracy became inside the space of a single generation.
I reach to older notions of truth, because I know the nature of the present time.
Onward.