Shahryar here, working with shaharazade's notes for the open thread she was going to write. I shall interpret!

My dead chicken. Was this chicken, not less than a week ago, running through the free range pastures, the green ones in our imagination?

I believe what she's saying is that this was the short, sweet life of Charlotte Chicken, who grew up to the point where she could imagine going to chicken college or perhaps getting a chicken job, when she was cut down in the prime of life, to be eaten by a pair of jackals or hyenas, scavengers of the worst order who, clutching forks and knives, convinced themselves that they were civilized.

So here's Thursday. Oh joy! Great. We wake up and work or just sit around and complain like good proles do. Oh, excuse me to you non-proles. Like I'm a prole! I live off the system, once removed, which makes it worse.

I think in this passage she refers to how people like us are ineffective in creating beneficial change. We might be aware of the problems but we are powerless to fix them. In fact, the definition of the proletariat itself is in dispute. Is it only the working class? The actual laborers? Blue collar workers? Perhaps so. Those of us who are "white collar" or technicians might see ourselves as "us" versus the elites but we are only enablers, closer to doing the dirty work for those rulers than we are to the real workers who rightly dislike us.

One after another falling out of the sky. And we all go nuts. Why? I mean, how many times do we have to go over this? (as a famous man once said). So what?

Here, I am guessing she is describing the existential problem of the aware thinkers of today. If we can't create the world we want, why do we persist in believing we can? Why do we persist in caring? Why don't we just live our lives and do what we want? Well, perhaps that last bit is mine.

According to her notes I should insert some visual images here. I can't do that any more from this computer so just imagine two beautiful photos and a beautiful painting or, if you'd prefer, three disturbing pictures.

Then there's music. These are some of the tunes that she's been playing while compiling these notes.

I'm Not Like Everybody Else

That's right! Or is it?

Too Much on my Mind

that's for sure!

Don't Doubt Yourself Babe

let what's inside be your guide!