To This Sentimentality (first letter)

It seems an impossible┬áthing to be manipulated while aware of it — to be powerless and comprehending — but I suppose it happens all the time. Who’d do that to somebody? Is it you who wants to control me or do others make you do it?
Is the economy a sentient thing? Does it get lonely or premeditate? Is there a table of shadowy Puppet Masters, a bunch of hoarding fat men with piglet-like skin and pudgy-soft baby hands, who call the shots from a bunker we’ll never have access to?
And why do I cry sometimes despite myself while watching TV (even if it’s just a welling-up in my eyes and a frog in my throat)? I recall one particularly shameful instance involving Oprah and Bon Jovi building homes for six “lucky” families displaced by Hurricane Katrina. It’s as if I’d just witnessed the resurrection of lost loved ones.
I know better but that’s not the point. You remind me my feelings are not necessarily my own. I’ve got to fight for them constantly.