Every day I take a little stroll through the internet to see if the world has woken up yet. Every day I see that it’s the same world bent out of shape into the contortion of the moment. It reminds me of a man trying to escape back pain by adopting some posture that would be sure to make his back hurt if it didn’t hurt already.
For some the sleep is dreamless and they lay motionless. For many others it is a restless dream that involves twisting and shifting and flailing about, hitting the bodies of other sleepers, all of them caught up in the total subjectivity of their own being. Millions of dreams bouncing off of each other like a runaway pinball machine attended by flashing lights and sound effects with a robot voice over the top announcing the ever changing circumstances that, though they possess an infinite variety of possibilities, are forever confined to the table until they go down through the bottom chute. There’s one way in and one way out and only the one table. No one knows what goes on during the time when the ball is off the table. The ball never says anything about it. It just comes back and starts bouncing off of the bumpers, shooting through the gates and sliding in the aisles.
It’s a real trick to walk through this world going in the opposite direction and managing to sidestep all of the people going the other way who are walking with their eyes closed.
I don’t mean to be critical because, you see, I’m dreaming too. I’m dreaming that I am awake and in a certain way I am but I’m still dreaming. Given that, I think it is the context and quality of our dream that defines us. This is the sort of dream that I wish I was having. I’m glad that someone is having this dream and I’m sad that there are so few. This dreamstuff that envelopes all of us is manipulated by various forces; the forces of industry and enterprise, the forces of religion and politics, the forces of desire to possess and acquire. Some forces are inimical to humankind. They feed on human flesh and they drink blood. They sacrifice children; not just the lives of children but their innocence as well as their hopes and dreams. You could say, “Well, after all, they are only dreams. We are only dreams, what does it matter?” Stick a pin in your hand and tell me how it feels. Maybe the pain is only a dream too.
Why are some of us content to live a life of total self-indulgence and vanity? Why are there so many Paris Hilton clones feeding off of the dream assembly lines? The march of the Ken and Barbie dolls goes on. There is nothing more for them than to be admired in the reflected lenses of their own eyes as they stare into the mirror; to be important and successful and unwilling to trouble their beautiful minds with considerations upon the world in front of us. Others see an opportunity for service in every circumstance. Some desire only to be served. The greater body gravitate from one to the other and depending on how deep is the materialism of the age; upon that depends where the majority of their attention will remain.
Alas Babylon… we could have had so much. We could have done so much but we got lost in a masturbation fantasy and stood hypnotized in a field of Narcissus flowers. When I see the work of a man like Jacque Fresco I am galvanized to be, to try to be, a better person. When I hear about Dean Kamen it makes me want to try harder and do more. Whenever I hear about someone who is making the world a better place, I am inspired. Then I always think, “too few… too few”. I don’t want to complain and scold. I don’t want to rain on the parade of your vain and pointless posturing to stand out as the object of desire among tens of thousands of frogs in sequined jumpsuits sitting on tens of thousands of lily pods in all of the small ponds across the planet.
I look at men like Ron Paul and Jessie Ventura and I think to myself, “Why wouldn’t most Americans want these men in the highest office in the land instead of the sold out whores we have to choose from?” I could criticize Jessie Ventura I suppose. I could criticize anyone if I were so disposed… but behind the brusk and bristling persona I see an honest man. Jessie Ventura cares what he is about. He’s the sort of man who couldn’t live with himself if he were to behave like “Old Yellow Streak 1” or “Old Yellow Streak 2”. I believe that President Jessie Ventura would ‘try’ to do the right thing and that he would seek to know what was true and not casually compromise the truth to fit his will. So he was a professional wrestler; what was Ronald Reagan?
I believe that Ron Paul would ‘try’ to do the right thing. Is he a reptile in disguise? Does he make funny hand signs and belong to secret organizations? Anyone who wants to do away with The Federal Reserve can not be one of the bad guys. Anyone who wants to cut off foreign aid to Israel which adds to all of the holocaust blackmail cash that pours into weapons that are used to murder a population armed with sticks and stones is on the right side of the equation.
But not even Ron Paul will touch the 9/11 question. Maybe he knows better and maybe he will when he can. Jessie Ventura calls it for what it is. He can’t be one of the bad guys. Sooner or later you have to stop thinking that anyone and everyone is a member of the elite. It could hardly be ‘the elite’ in that case.
Ron Paul is still running for president but you wouldn’t know it. Yet… a very large portion of the American public supports him. All you have to do is vote for him. Is that too much to ask? Somebody out there please… bring these two men together into a room. Bring Robert Kennedy Jr. into that room. Bring together some small group of men and women who are at least halfway honest men and women and see what the opportunity to lead will do in terms of the angels of their better nature. Damn it!!! Make it happen.
I’m getting sick and tired of watching an indulgent nation wacking off to porn and stuffing Cheetos into their fat cheeks like retarded Chipmunks. I’m getting sick and tired of having to wake up every day and encounter the same shit for brains treadmill walking hamsters who are marching through the chutes to the killing floor. We could have and achieve so much and you are content with this? You make me want to puke.
Well, there went any lyrical integrity this post might have had…
People, look around you. There are a lot of decent caring people who would gladly share the same dream. You are capable of marching off to die in a corporation war but you aren’t willing to march off and die for the only things that make life worth living in the first place? What? The former has an official imprimatur and the other is a risky proposition? Crossing the street is a risky proposition if you’re not paying attention. Many a dead chipmunk could tell you so.
All I ask is that you wake up enough to see that you are dreaming. Once you can see that you are dreaming you can dream along with Jacque Fresco and Dean Kamen. You can dream along with Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi. Right now you’re sitting by the riverbank in one of those stories at the end of Magister Ludi. I just want you to wake up and realize that you are sitting on the river bank. From that point we can set out upon that river or walk inland toward the shining city on the hill that we never got to build.
What can I or anyone do? I’ve got “Blue Jay Way” playing as loud as my speakers can manage but they can’t even hear it in the next block. You have to wake up. You have to.
Original source: http://smokingmirrors.blogspot.com/2008/05/part-two-are-you-drunk-stupid-or-asleep.html