A.M. Mushrooms in a white wine sauce.

It is, at present, 3:45 in the morning in what amounts to a small outpost on the outskirts of what is essentially a rebel town in the deep heart of the Republikan empire, and I am proud to admit that I have mastered yet another fabulous recipe. I am enjoying mushrooms sauteed in a white wine and garlic sauce. A sort of bourgeois midnight snack, you might say. And it is the source of much contemplation on my part.
Some context is required. The mushrooms and garlic were acquired as part of a somewhat desperate entrepreneurial scheme to sell burrito's at a trance party (a highly lucrative endeavor from my point of view, though an utter waste of time from the perspective of the capitalist society, in which and despite which I exist; i.e. a breakdown of money per hour spent would yield less than minimum wage). The white wine was a leftover from Burning Man, and the organic butter - bovine growth hormone be damned!- I probably bought. The point is, though I remain something of a pariah, a slacker among a culture of obsessive work and depraved materialism, I nonetheless experience an existence whose luxuriousness exceeds many of the noblest castes of people that have ever lived. And if this sounds an over-bold statement, let me provide a few offerings to make my case. I can extract, at will, hot and cold running water at any time of day or night. Furthermore, no servants are needed to boil the water, etc. so it doesn't even take a lapse of time to summon them in the middle of the night. Having just enjoyed a luxurious bath (and a bottle of wine), I can personally attest that this is the peak of luxuriousness.
I can eat, should I desire, tomatoes, avocados, Japanese style miso, fresh fish and other meats, oranges, fresh produce, and cheeses at any time of year, from virtually any place on the planet. I can listen at any time of day or night to any music I so desire. I can enjoy full-spectrum lighting day or night. I can read and study the writings of Shakespeare or Euclid or Dante with only a few clicks on the mouse of my computer, a privilege for which many of my ancestors had to travel great lengths, and then only to hear read aloud by a professor whilst they frantically transcribe on very expensive parchment.
You see where I'm going with this. That though I am, by all conventional measures (race excluded), a down-trodden, low-life, food-stamp-getting pathetic excuse for an American, I nonetheless enjoy a life of privilege, enabled by technology, to which the kings and queens of antiquity would have enviously aspired.
I recently flipped through Rob Brezny's book, Pronoia. The oracular message for the day was, to paraphrase, that he has learned from some friends of his that caviar is best served on a gold, not a sliver spoon, as sliver colors the flavor. And he has also learned from other friends that, while dumpster diving, it is best to look for dented cans, as these stand no risk of bacterial infection. And Saint Rob, as I call him, pointed out that all of this is useful information. The wheel ever turns, and luxury and poverty are but stops along it's ever-churning path.
So enjoy, my friends! Such luxury has never existed in humankind. It is ours to enjoy for a time, so long as we are ever prepared to be scavengers as well, to remember the lesson of the Buddha, who was both a prince and a beggar, before he realized that enlightenment consisted of not being attached to either. Enjoy, and know that it means nothing!