This year there is absolutely no rational reason to subject yourself to taking orders from corporate bosses and bankers, with their mostly absurd, often gruesome distortions and exploitations of what started off as a wonderful democratic republic.
In previous years, I regularly came to the conclusion that sooner or later I would absolutely never again take or give another order, no matter what. But ah this and oh that, in the nature of things I went on taking and giving orders. So I adopted the famous saying, what do I care about the ridiculously impractical things I said yesterday? And that helped me to not be plagued by a guilty conscience every time I gave and received an order.
But this year . . . so I went on giving and taking orders, at least I think that’s what I’m doing. But suddenly I had another idea, the idea of observing people giving orders to each other on 19th century painted plates. Go on and call it crazy. Maybe it is. But I had the idea of buying old plates with pictures painted on them of people giving and receiving orders. I could observe and ……well you get it. It detached me from the terrible actual experience of grown people ordering each other around.
This plate here? With the fluted edges? A little too thick? Two people are looking out to sea. The plate says “Serbia” on the back. Serbia is landlocked, so the sea must be a lake, most likely Palic Lake. They are both wearing flat hats. One is standing, pointing out upon the lake; the other is sitting, languid, looking out on the lake. Birds are flying softly in the sky over the peaceful lake. There’s a pretty pink castle atop a mountain on the other side of the water. The one standing? That’s me giving you an order. At least I think it’s me. If not, it’s you giving me an order. At least I think it’s you.