Thursday, August 26, 2021

Autonomous Is Therefore Free


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...What we'd have is time to think
to puzzle at, or ponder... 
on the workings of reality—
its vastness, scope, and wonder! 
We'd pay the freight (or one's fair share!) 
to lever up what rocks are there...
We'd know what's hidden deep inside 
our monumental pile of pride! 
.
Too much *stuff* is hid away: 
the taxes that the rich won't pay, 
the saucers flying high in skies, 
the black-ops of psychotic scribes. 
 Cozened by an *earnest* evil
tormented by its pins and needles
bred respect-less in our billions, 
 used like grease or servile minions... 
...we who'd follow on the heels 
of those who make what's real... surreal!
.
Those who shall not care "who pays," 
as they "enjoy" psychotic days! 
He (less she!) to make us shriek... 
encourage us, then, not to speak... 
of that which then must truly dare us, 
or just terrifyspin... but scare us...
.

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...This glad ablation kills our spirit!  
We're close to meltdown—
something near it!  
We won't listen to the wind; 
we shan't see what signs portend. 
We're so close to what renews us, 
less respect from what's contused us
almost there, we breathe upon it, 
yet we must let that go? Be honest!
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We're harried by mad Gods, not Devils
bamboozled by their priests and heralds
Most that's "preached"? Division—hatred! 
The least (if most)? The "chosen" hated!
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Those who work to heat our water... 
washing rocks and forcing laughter, 
languish as the disrespected
bereft of choice and spurned—neglected
Poisoned and then, yes, infected... 
as glad toxins, we're rejected, 
a wasting of humanity. 
Viral vectors, memes like fleas...
.
Confined again by *old* disease, 
we cower on old callused knees! 
...Attention drawn to *hallowed* ground?  
We miss the saucers most profound!
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...And blinded by our jealous culture—
"made to order" raptors... ...vultures—
wishing to reward the few 
their lack of vision, depth, or view! 
...humans aping hapless lots, 
so unaware of what they've got... 
pacing to their shallow graves, 
while hoping for some "bone" of praise.
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Then we get a brand new car (!), 
forget, somehow, exploding stars—
forget that real comets spring 
to smash our Earth when next they swing. 
Forgetting saucers fly our skies, 
though still, they fly I would advise, 
we pander to invented Gods 
made jealous by their heralds' cause... 
to keep themselves in unjust power—
safe behind rich walls and towers!
.
These, the folks who *killed* John Ford 
(at least as good as!)—scabrous lords! 
 These remaining un-elected, 
these unseen, so undetected
These producing shadowed blight
these who would preclude our SIGHT—
these who make our schools expensive, 
prohibitive, or bland—litigious
These performing "planet sodomy" 
with all pretension, grace—abominably! 
These who sell us out for dollars—
growing rich by fueling squalor!
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THESE are who we should decry, 
and disrespect ... abhor—despise!
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These, true devils—they confine us; 
their priests and judges starve and blind us! 
 Yes, I'd try to do without 
the *God* Newt Gingrich mewls about; 
I'd trust the future, what it brings! 
When "dams" do "burst"? Potential springs!
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I'd confirm that we're endangered—
kept from goals by scowling strangers ... 
taking us from higher places 
that we shan't find in rein or traces!
.
There is where I'd romp and wander
test my faith, considerponder
This is where I'd rather be! 
 Autonomous and off my knees!
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Autonomous Is Therefore Free!




I realize there has to be a "cooperation," or store-bought socks don't get in the sock drawer and food larders go scarily unfilled. Though, when that cooperation is presuming, presuming at the dire expense of the individual person, eventually (everything's eventual)? 

That revered and ever esteemed *team* or corporation will suffer most egregiously for it! It will dissolve, disintegrate, deteriorate—break, in one characteristic word. "Chains" of limited strength... Think not?

Sock drawers and food larders contents dwindle. See, I offer that the quality of a team is DEFINED by the quality of the individuals composing that team! The quality of links defines the quality of the chains composing it. 

That a classic no-brainer, eh? One has heard the old saw regarding the chain's strength and that single link. The individual, one can see: a link of any chain... remains critically key it would seem obvious!

Consider, reader, the "teams" that a collection of autonomously powerful individuals must, undeniably, make! Consider before you tell me there is no "I" in "team." Without the "I" in "team"? You don't have a team! You have a limited, lack-luster, and unimaginative—entirely predictable and spiritless drone—a conscienceless machine! 

The chain's an aggregate strength, sure. Of course, or what would be the point? Remains, there has to be something "in it" for the link! "Not breaking" is not enough! A sincere consciousness must command a certain respect and an appreciation for that respect!

Moreover, autonomous people have time to think on their own! This is of course, exactly what *they* don't want us to have—time to think. When one thinks, the eldritch, hoary, if illuminating, light comes up ... can't have that! Only, I suspect we are better served AS a humanity by that eldritch illuminating lux Mysterio... what presents from revealed shadows...

Moreover, the aspiring brave, climbing their own Maslowian peaks, can have it no other way.

Case in point:

At around 13:00 CST on the first of March one year not long ago, a little piece of reality obliterating "anti-matter" made contact with Enterprise, Alabama, a still growing and productive little American town in the southeast of the state. My town, at the time.

As the expected result of a quantity of this meteorological "antimatter" coming in contact with any amount of regular "matter," there was an inclusive annihilation of the matter contacted. There was complete destruction. There was obliteration. There was much death. Homes were destroyed for the rest. Quality of life corrupted or negatively affected for those remaining... not 500 meters from my OWN home.

The aggregate devastation was, in fact, complete enough for crass Republican opportunist George W. Bush, the President at the time, that walking personification for disqualifying any vestige of the myth of "white supremacy," to descend upon us, uselessly, in a junket costing many millions... so fruitlessly grubbing for a political capital all but entirely lost to him late in a failing Presidency...

He would fly over in a fleet of pricey helicopters while we cleaned up below. I loudly reminded everyone around me similarly toiling that he probably thought he was looking at "Katrina's" Louisiana. There was no dissension to my observation, no protest... only laughter. 

Verily, a metaphoric "Disaster Area" over-flew the actual disaster below, and everyone seemed to sense it. See, real people could use the money spent on Bush's wholly empty and self-interested gesture to rebuild their lives.

The point is that a 'team' of human beings rallied and continues to rally in the face of this calamity. Thousands of friends and other strangers had banded together in the fellowship of the assaulted, the obligatory hapless who will be shortchanged by their insurance companies, governments, or other soulless corporate bodies... singled out for special high-intensity terror only *God* can provide! They are the 99%. We even named our confederacy: it was called Tradijinae.

Individuals were forgetting personal concerns for a time and supporting shell-shocked neighbors they were not even speaking to previously. True giving and self-sacrifice by single persons empowered to give and sacrifice. Truly, and tragically, we are individually at our best when things are at their worst. Read on.

Tell me there is no "I" in team!




Restore John Ford!

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