Authoritarians rely on the vicious passivity of the commoner. They understand how average humans embrace evil and love to excuse themselves by glibly stating, “Just doing my job.” Despite the humanitarian facade, undeserved power dissolves their integrity. The working classes historically allowed revolutionaries to replace the tyrants but time and time again, ushered in the same brand of tyranny. As long as the checks keep coming, the people will look away. The master and the slave complete one another. They both spiral down the cesspit of greed, lust, and ignorance. Pretenders are among them both as well. About every aristocrat and commoner alike believes they’re above average and that the world owes them recognition. Both master and slave wear the same smug look on their faces and adorn the same useless trinkets. Fashionable accessories are essential to this show. This is why the screen before your eyes told you not to touch that dial. Don’t go away because, “But wait! There’s more!” There is always more, but it’s only more lies. When humanity built the stage William Shakespeare spoke of, spouses became accessories, children became accessories, and neighbors became accessories. Before the grand deception, the parade, the fireworks, the big game, and the fickle fashion trends, we had it all. The Earth provided. The rivers were free of toxic sewage, and the air was free of strontium, barium, and aluminum. Our cooperation with one another was critical to our survival. Now our defining motto degraded into a weak rationalization—It’s just business.
Society expects us to bury our righteous indignation. It’s message reverberates distinctly and deeply within our consciousness. Ask for anything real, and society returns a resounding, “No.” It says, “Don’t bother with the truth if you’re conducting serious business.” After all, our seething anger is symptomatic of the truth a business partner or bureaucrat refuses to confront. The living dead don’t appreciate being reminded of the truth. They prefer their mechanical, implanted dreams, the American Dream, the follow the rules and you’ll get paid dream. No matter that governments and corporations treat us like insects, if your fence is high enough, you might salvage some piece of mind. No matter that wealthy oligarchs hire assassins to hunt any spiritual teacher preaching, “Love thy neighbor,” if you surround yourself with enough toys, for a while, the glaring truth might not kick your door in. The oligarchs know perfectly well, united, we survive, and divided, we perish. What better way to divide the population than with providing subversive entertainment, mind-altering drugs, and superficial, depraved individuals for children to emulate? What agenda do the actors, musicians, and socialites push? They’re practitioners of hedonism and as such, they proclaim that wine is the water. As ambassadors of the Bread and Circus Show, they glamorize the chase for that short-lived, egocentric euphoria and the youth, by becoming too deeply involved with their music, dancing, drugs, and sex, are swallowed up by this Bread and Circus Show. When the show digests the youth, the show becomes the reality, and they herald cheap gratification as the giver of life. Anything good is measured against an earthly pleasure. The drug, whether tangible or intangible, represents the epitome of good in this world. The zombies will pervert anything, including the holy and the respectable, to satisfy their pleasure seeking. Despite being essential to life, the population no longer reveres water, and the rotting of civilization is revered in its stead.
In the age of cheap and fashionable technology, the dead no longer keep their secrets. The dead bombard the Internet with platitudes they parrot and banal media they upload. Their videos plead us to subscribe to their channels yet offer nothing of value, and their images plead us for validation yet offer nothing of interest. Everyone poses the same way and peddles the same tired slogans describing how unique they are. They become emotionally invested in vulgar, narcissistic celebrities and athletes. They clad themselves with arbitrary brand names completely unaware that they’ve morphed themselves into walking billboards. As this behavior reaps profits, society not only accommodated but normalized this specific case of delirium. Being a fanatic warped into being a badge of honor. Wrapped up in their tribe’s colors and logos, they’re oblivious to their uniforms turning into shackles. If our team loses, our irrational feeling of loss is commended. After all, we must prove our loyalty to a franchise or brand that never will and never should care about us. Regardless of any corporations’ sociopathic micro focus on the bottom line, the vicissitudes of the seasons and playoffs parallel our own. The spectacle of playing with balls takes precedence over making this place better for future generations. The dead are hopelessly compelled to feel a part of something but have a true stake in nothing.
Let’s imagine we can project our minds into the future. Will screens not leap closer to our eyes until the interface is embedded into them and soon afterward, into our brains? The story of the phonograph, the radio, the television, and the smartphone should startle conscious beings. However, the bond between human and machine will only entrance the average human. The average human is a fallen leaf, going where the violent, rushing current takes it. Any new toy under the spotlight of a marketing campaign will mesmerize them and if he or she keeps producing for the current technocracy, they will merge with machines and seal their fate as irredeemable slaves. Advertisements primarily were found on storefronts and billboards but leaped closer to us as the screens had jumped from the laboratory, to the theater, to the home, to the pocket and eventually, to the body and brain itself. Film from the 20th century showcased the working grunt spellbound before the glass of a shop. It’s eerie how one little piece of footage can depict the downfall of humanity itself. How very uninteresting a working grunt would be when nearly every thought revolved around buying, selling, buying, selling. Being underpaid and overworked enables the worker drone to buy but still remain virtually powerless. The more the drone sells, the less overpaid he is, but the more the drone sells, the more the spirit languishes. Generation after generation we transform the entire planet into a dumpster, a platform for buying and selling, going out of our way not to work together and cooperate.
The good relinquish their attachments to material objects. They recognize rituals of the heathen and withhold their participation in such activities. Gift exchanges, which are inferior forms of kindness occurring during certain times of year, are unhealthy social conventions that obligate us to spend money on one another. It’s excessive. Being kind and respectful should suffice. Instead of nurturing a deep respect for life itself, some of us grasp after death and surrender to the impulses of the beast. We plug our umbilical cords into anything we can. We seek not truth but lies to prop up our dreamy existence. Forever scouring the face of the earth for the comfort of a warm womb, we idolize the rich and denigrate the poor. Unsurprisingly, we cannot plug our umbilical cords into a poor person. The foolish hate the vulnerable. The vulnerable remind fools of their own vulnerability. Anything that contradicts the fairy tale we’ve created for ourselves we greet with hostility and incredulousness. Any spoken truth that shatters the lies of our supposed invincibility and imperviousness to danger will incite even greater animosity toward the weak. For some, weakness is characterized by a person lacking the financial resources to appease their infantilism. For some, the gift of kindness is taken for granted and dead plants and pointless rocks elevate social status. Whether male or female, status symbols become cheap trophies providing short lived validation. If we truly loved flowers, we would learn to grow them and would cringe at the sight of cut stems. Material gifts, such as dead plants, gems, and metals, intend to capture beauty by not only artificially packaging it but mutilating it.
American Internet culture reeks of putrid ignorance. Bombarded with smug users’ vitriol and shallow media, communication online disintegrated into a cesspool of rabid animals and instant pleasure seeking addicts. The marketplace and political tribalism dominate their online discourse. Images of cats and memes repeat on a never ending, soul sucking loop. It’s a flood of filth. Americans have been historically hostile toward British royalty, but Americans have given the royals of all nations plenty of reasons to be hated themselves. Even a subset of American Internet culture, which challenges authority with conspiracy theory, is bogged down by words like Illuminati, Red Pill, and Reptilian. As if watching a few videos and streamlining the acceptance of unfamiliar ideas led to their enlightenment, their words parade along the web, drumming up not only ignorance but more intense ignorance than ever before. Their general motto is as follows: “I have awakened. Now, my only purpose is to wake others.” More than likely, the same conspiracy theorists haven’t familiarized themselves with the works of Carroll Quigley, Antony C. Sutton, Manly P. Hall, and countless other authors who’ve poured their lives into their research. However, even with mounds and mounds of data, we all will struggle to grasp the totality of truth. I don’t recall reading a book created on a sturdy foundation of logic and research where the author describes the completeness of his understanding. I don’t think any author with an ounce of credibility would serve truth in convenient, bite size morsels because his or her consciousness supposedly reached the apex of understanding.
If we truly want to connect with others, let’s do without networking. This term is irreversibly damaged. It’s spoiled at its core, and it’s designed to be abused. No matter how compassionate we want to be, with networking, there will always be an agenda. Authentic conversations aren’t possible when our personal ambitions aren’t the furthest topic from our minds. Our insecurities, our salesmanship, and our desire to impress need to be squashed in favor of complete focus on the person in front of us and what we have to offer others. Compassionate speech and reciprocation must drive authentic conversation. Networking, in contrast, cheapens our conversation. We mar true communication by this aggressive drive to improve oneself, which of course, is concealed by a smile and a firm handshake. Similar to meditation, if we approach socializing with the mindset of getting something, we’ve already miscalculated and created situations ripe for disappointment. Let’s communicate without an agenda. Let’s be at ease. Without our ambitions gnawing at our consciousness, we’re free to give ourselves completely to others, and there’s plenty of individuals that do need our help.
When making a purchase, we’re declaring the worth of the company responsible for the sale – let’s not overlook the magnitude of this. The American public’s choice of Walmart over their local stores illustrates this perfectly. We not only allowed, but indirectly encouraged our small businesses to wither away and die off. These are entities that tend to care about the local community, but the American public voted with their dollars, and the gloom of cheap prices, cheap labor, and cheap quality products came roaring to the forefront. We sought cheaper prices, but what we really wanted was to fulfill a vision of a community that upholds family values, not a dehumanized labor market. Make no mistake, we’re not entirely innocent. We fed this pillaging retail monster with our unconscionable and reckless spending. Companies like this retail giant cannot dominate the market without us, and as long as we stay ignorant of their nefarious dealings and their wicked agendas and stay spiritually broken, we’re easily fooled by their false promises.