in rust we trust

 I'm unsure who wrote that. Its a silly motto, but like many things it contains a slither of value. Certainly many of my things are rusty, or shabby or crusty. My Land Rover is only a bit rusty because its largely aluminium. The ex-military camouflage paint is faded and the underparts muddy, seats torn with wear. The house is three quarters painted from 10 years earlier, and some of the boards have rot. 

Even my clothes are faded, stained and frayed. But I'm now realising that, if I don't actually like crusty things, I do have a high tolerance for them. 

I have a kind of dark humour about living frugally. If I pull up the a traffic light on a rattling motorcycle or my Rover jallopy and a bloke pulls up alongside in something all shiny and new I have uncommon reactions. My first is to think well fuck mate here I am in my budget vehicle, alongside you in your expensive sports model, and when the lights turns green we're both going to move off in the same direction and speed. Then I actually feel sorry for them, being so fucking shallow believing that owning hideously expensive things makes them happy. I've tried that route. Buy something top knotch, think you're cool until it fades or wears out, as it must, and a newer version comes on the market. Some people don't get it, they might go buy the latest thing, and chase that elusive happiness for another 12 months. In the end, its an elusion set up to make Fat Cats richer. Its also a treadmill that government like us to stay on, to keep industry turning and the minions occupied. 

Unoccupied minions are dangerous, they are subversive and question the hegemony. Imagine that guy in his Porsche, once a child with a brilliant mind, a soft heart who peddles so hard to fulfill the elusion but in the end becomes braindead and dispassionate. 

 E-loose-ive State of Being