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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


11.22.17

Today I read an article that mentioned my ex-brother-in-law, the CEO of a big pharmaceutical company. He was one of the first corporate directors to endorse Trump, and his company stands to gain alot if the tax reform law is approved. I remember him as a nice dude, and associate good times with him: admiring foxgloves beside a fjord in the Connemara, dining in Yosemite one summer night, lying on a great lawn in Toronto while marvelling at cardinals and drinking Pernod at dusk. I thought Pernod was magic the first time he dropped ice cubes into the glass, instantaneously clouding the clear chartreuse liquid. Magic. Meanwhile he was steadily moving up the corporate ladder, making a series of efficient and ruthless decisions that allowed him to arrive at a point where he could assume a position in which his precedessor had jacked up the prices of drugs to the point of unaffordability, so that people have perished. But no doubt the entire family, even his socialist brother, was proud of him, the charming, urbane, and mild-mannered son and brother, he who climbed so far. What a grotesquerie, capitalism.




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