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My father, an architect/entrepeneur, mourned daily the disappearing connection physical work and the transubstantiation of the poor pen for his muscle. He drew plans but longed to put stone upon stone until the edifice meant something.

In Shakespeare's Macbeth,the witches have an incantation:
"Like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do,I'll do."

In the absence of physical work and connection between meaning and bullshit -- the connection that our daily feeds people in a real way -- we become disintermediated. We care more about our poker chips than about the people giving us their money in exchange for their hopes.

Shakespeare implies that when our navigational mechanisms (tails) are cut off, that when men become all about mind devoid of body, we simply become rats on a wheel.

For wisdom, seek Shakespeare. Seek real work. Get fingernails dirty.

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