Bertrand Russell was wrong about this
withdrawal:
what if:
we had developed a drug
able to produce biological immortality: what then, if
the only thing punishable by (the slow) death (of ageing)
was the intergenerational accumulation of wealth? What cachet: no
other penalty, no restriction: just a cutting off
from the body social
of a certain type of limb: what then
would the scene be like in a fine
restaurant, where only monied scions
could afford to meet: what romance, what
farce, what tragedy. Bittersweet, the
marriage between childhood lovers
who have inherited land: grand, the
inevitable uncle
who holds his gold in square iron fists, who
wears his grey as a sign of
true victory.
©Peter A. Greene 2012
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