The ideal association would be a modestly-sized bowling league,
One which could really throw rocks,
But which wouldn’t wave their pieces around on the lanes.
The people would dig the style there so much,
That they would never allow anything to interrupt league play.
They would do the usual:
Bowl, drive around, the occasional acid flashback,
They might never get to see London or France,
Or the queen in her damned undies.
They wouldn’t roll out naked,
But they wouldn’t be inclined to take that hill either.
They would be good at taking ’er easy—
Careful with beverages,
Bathing with candles and whale songs,
Tying together their private residences,
And calmer than you are.
Because they wouldn’t obsess over a lifetime of achievement
They could die with a smile on their face
Without feeling like the good lord gypped them.
What the fuck are you talking about?
I’ll tell you what the fuck I’m talking about!
I’m talking about unchecked affection here.
Tao Te Ching: 80
The ideal society would be small, with a modest population,
And enough resource to amass an army,
Yet no recourse to deploy it.
They would value their lives so much
That they would see no reason to venture from home.
They would maintain vessels,
But have little occasion to ride them.
They would store weapons,
But have little occasion to exhibit them.
They would return to the old ways of doing things:
Enjoying their food,
Taking pride in their appearance,
Feeling secure in their homes,
And venerating the simple life.
Neighboring villages would stand in plain view,
Yet the people would happily pass their whole lives
Without ever having bothered to go visit.