terra incognita
18th November 2006, 07:15 PM
The last thing the Meat Factory wants you to ask are the real questions. The Meat Factory wants you to be productive, happy and socially acceptable. The Meat Factory wants you to have a new haircut, a nice car, and a nice house and to be in a pleasant game of competition with the Jones' next door. Nothing too stressful or unseemly.
Planned obsolescence is the byword of its acolytes. Incremental steps on an endless stairway toward a brighter cleaner and more productive future. The Meat Factory issues the opiates of hope and optimism with a gleam in its eye and a shine on its teeth.
The razor-sharp edge of its starched Italian suit impresses even the most casual listener with its gravitas and earnestness. The Meat Factory hands out plastic packages to every age group to fit their needs and lifestyle. Each package contains those items which were pre-packaged before that group was even born.
Every instinct and desire has been meticulously examined by the Meat Factory's White Coats. The citizens needs have been predetermined before the citizen has even felt them. Convenience and Fear are swung by the Meat Factory like opposite ends of a bolo, which is ultimately meant to bind the feet of that new soul on this earth.
The Meat Factory never wants the citizen to ask the Right Questions, so the Right Questions are never put into the citizens head. Any attempt to formulate these questions are promptly quashed and the citizen is directed toward a shiny new product.
Even the questions which might lead to those questions are ridiculed, considered trite, inconsequential, dreamy and meaningless, the citizen is told to get his "head out of the clouds". Like the cow which busted free from the slaughter house and ran over the fences, the one who asks the questions becomes a pariah.
King Solomon in Ecclesiastes spoke:
"Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."
What does man gain from all his labor
at which he toils under the sun?"
The Meat Factory sends out its representitives to patronize the spouter of these worn and obtuse sayings by asking, "Do you own a Blackberry yet?"
The soul of the citizen shrinks when his own philosophy is turned against him, like a pointed barb with the shrugs and the hopeless shaking of heads around him.
Though Atlantis may have existed only in the minds of those who believe in Unicorns and Woodland Fairies, it was said to have sunk under its excesses and misuse of human attributes. Whether in myth or reality, the Citizen senses that the concentration of human thought to the pursuit of purely physical stimulus today may be the same titanic forces which sunk that mythical realm.
The water which inundates our Modern America is one of unstoppable emotional turbulance and chaos of the mind. The tsunami of misused human intellect could cover our land and not recede but for that one lone voice which asks the Real Questions.
The Citizen who asks the Real Questions might cling to that piece of driftwood and when all hope is lost, continue clinging for the sake of his Questions. He may realize that it is not for us to make the world a better place but for us to make ourselves better people individually. To cling to that piece of drift wood and hope for a single clear fact. A fact unobscured by profit margins and ego and company logos and hatred and vice, a single pure voice which can speak of no contact to another human soul. A voice undiluted in its purity.
And clinging to that piece of driftwood he felt the Vibration. Millions of words or a library of infinite books cannot speak the volumes that the Vibration does to the soul and mind of man. So from this muck of mud and debris which surrounds the castaway clinging to his piece of driftwood, the Vibration raises him up, though not physically, to a place of safety and well-being. He is secure in his heart though vunerable in his body still.
And as the water recedes he is set down once again on firm land. Still subjected to the rules of the Meat Factory but now he has a single shining solitary star that no one sees but him.
(Based, in part, on a recent dream.)
Planned obsolescence is the byword of its acolytes. Incremental steps on an endless stairway toward a brighter cleaner and more productive future. The Meat Factory issues the opiates of hope and optimism with a gleam in its eye and a shine on its teeth.
The razor-sharp edge of its starched Italian suit impresses even the most casual listener with its gravitas and earnestness. The Meat Factory hands out plastic packages to every age group to fit their needs and lifestyle. Each package contains those items which were pre-packaged before that group was even born.
Every instinct and desire has been meticulously examined by the Meat Factory's White Coats. The citizens needs have been predetermined before the citizen has even felt them. Convenience and Fear are swung by the Meat Factory like opposite ends of a bolo, which is ultimately meant to bind the feet of that new soul on this earth.
The Meat Factory never wants the citizen to ask the Right Questions, so the Right Questions are never put into the citizens head. Any attempt to formulate these questions are promptly quashed and the citizen is directed toward a shiny new product.
Even the questions which might lead to those questions are ridiculed, considered trite, inconsequential, dreamy and meaningless, the citizen is told to get his "head out of the clouds". Like the cow which busted free from the slaughter house and ran over the fences, the one who asks the questions becomes a pariah.
King Solomon in Ecclesiastes spoke:
"Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."
What does man gain from all his labor
at which he toils under the sun?"
The Meat Factory sends out its representitives to patronize the spouter of these worn and obtuse sayings by asking, "Do you own a Blackberry yet?"
The soul of the citizen shrinks when his own philosophy is turned against him, like a pointed barb with the shrugs and the hopeless shaking of heads around him.
Though Atlantis may have existed only in the minds of those who believe in Unicorns and Woodland Fairies, it was said to have sunk under its excesses and misuse of human attributes. Whether in myth or reality, the Citizen senses that the concentration of human thought to the pursuit of purely physical stimulus today may be the same titanic forces which sunk that mythical realm.
The water which inundates our Modern America is one of unstoppable emotional turbulance and chaos of the mind. The tsunami of misused human intellect could cover our land and not recede but for that one lone voice which asks the Real Questions.
The Citizen who asks the Real Questions might cling to that piece of driftwood and when all hope is lost, continue clinging for the sake of his Questions. He may realize that it is not for us to make the world a better place but for us to make ourselves better people individually. To cling to that piece of drift wood and hope for a single clear fact. A fact unobscured by profit margins and ego and company logos and hatred and vice, a single pure voice which can speak of no contact to another human soul. A voice undiluted in its purity.
And clinging to that piece of driftwood he felt the Vibration. Millions of words or a library of infinite books cannot speak the volumes that the Vibration does to the soul and mind of man. So from this muck of mud and debris which surrounds the castaway clinging to his piece of driftwood, the Vibration raises him up, though not physically, to a place of safety and well-being. He is secure in his heart though vunerable in his body still.
And as the water recedes he is set down once again on firm land. Still subjected to the rules of the Meat Factory but now he has a single shining solitary star that no one sees but him.
(Based, in part, on a recent dream.)