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être dans la lune

When I was a much younger man, I held the conviction that most persons surrounded themselves with entertainment because they were ultimately frightened by the prospects of being left alone with their own thoughts. Now, I keep the conviction they do so because they have no thoughts of their own to speak of. To be entertained is selfish and irresponsible when every life is always on the line, under pervasive threat by the self-declared masters of the world and their collectively singular consume or be consumed pathology. There is no harmless fun, when misled and pilfered resources are needed elsewhere far more than is the paltry bemusement of anyone. And in the same self-inflicted emptiness, those who entertain accomplish nothing but the spread of lullaby, a diseased line of thoughtless thought, where forgetting the abject misery of others for the sake of a passing indulgence is by any interpretation an acceptable pretense for living. This is why reviews are intrinsic to artificial cultures, responding to the desperate need for the masses to be informed how to feel. I myself tested the boundaries of this for years across thousands of articles. I chose from the start to never address the larger properties, which was met with numerous invitations and attempted recruitments to work for those larger properties. They wanted me because I saw the distinction of permissible opinion, in a “keep your friends close but your enemies closer” manner, while I always declined because I saw that distinction. This resulted with each and everything I promoted being blunt irony, as not one example represented what was or remains permissible opinion.

What forces benefit from such a shallowness? Church, State and Industry, as ever, and under the illusion of a freedom of choice. Blind loyalty is brand loyalty, and brand loyalty is blind loyalty.

For those who cannot dream of existing without their favorite political branding, does such dreamless plight render them branded property owned by that one and same political branding. For those who cannot dream of existing without their favored religious brand, are they dutifully branded property of that one and same religious brand. And for those who cannot dream of existing without their favorite corporate branding, will they even wear the icons of that brand as though their physical forms were nothing better than billboards advertising on behalf of billionaires they will never know as friend. If they cannot fathom living without what they claim to freely choose themselves, then they are not actually making that choice themselves, and so require the distraction of entertainment as to maintain the charade of deciding anything for themselves. To draw their attentions away from their own chains of servitude binding them to mere brands. If they are so helpless as to require these brandings of Church and/or State and/or Industry to define their very identity as though clothes make the man rather than the man giving form to accoutrements, then they have no identity of their own, being just empty vessels eager to be filled with the cum of con-artists, of storytellers, of conspired forces possessing no aims to reciprocate for the safe passages of their free rides at the expense of their entertained serfdom holding them aloft.

You, the fiscal conservative. You, the hobbyist video blogger of pop culture reviews. You, the Pentecostal faithful. You, running the #anonymous Twitter accounts. You, the indie movie production’s hair and makeup girl. You, the small-town, drunken plumber minding his own beeswax. No true thought given to consequences of your actions, or inaction. All grown dependent upon and thus in turn contributing to the same machinery regardless of how independent, how free, you insist on your life being accepted as while using any color from the established box to flesh in what’s between the established lines. Conformity is a self-perpetuating thing, however, and conforming to societal norms is simply abiding by the machinations of the masters of that society. As slaves do.

Mistaking the urges of masters for popular opinion is murderous enough, the clear origin of all warring, but mistaking the urges of masters for personal opinion is the most dire slavery, taken captive as they are by freely giving away what is truly greater than any banner or flag or fetish, any obsession or addiction or finite pleasure to behold.

They may be aware to whichever extents of options in their lifetime, but with all the sanctioned options enriching the same slave-masters whose pillaged networks buy and sell these political brands, religious brands and most obviously the brands of industry, any strive towards truth callously becomes a matter of favoring the lesser of evils, of what their masters inform them is the least objectionable way and thus trusting the reasoning of those least likely to sacrifice anything of themselves while reaping vociferously all rewards. Free of virtue, proper society can never incorporate obligation or responsibility or accountability, all shunned in exchange for perpetuating limited indulgences of illusion, and all for the express purpose of enriching those claiming undue ownership of all that the world has to offer its many not so diverse peoples therein. Frightened at the core, nullified and helpless, these witlessly willful subservients choose only to remain servants, the desperation that is survival replaced by the desperation to have their lives conducted like puppets on string, insuring only that they will never survive at all.

Like a bunch of cunts.