Primrose Pansies and Proletarian Panza
Chicken little is falling, and she won't get up. The end of the world as we know it is far from coming to a television station in your area. By the time it is announced on your local network, or in your favorite web blog, the time will be gone. Oh, wait it already is.
Perfectly manicured lawns are a true sign of demise. When there is too much for you to do, and you have no time for the rest, you know that you should really be out there trimming the hedges and spreading more fertilizer on the lawns.
What I am waiting for is the searing reality that will certainly come, but probably at such a slow pace that most people will become accustomed to it before it even reaches the proportion necessary to make an impact. The reality is that most people will not see a difference. They will not notice that many of their neighbors are no longer around, because they will leave not in droves, but a few a time. There will not be any explosion, as the media dilutes the reality, and paints a picture that will continue to keep the idiots pacified. The cost of everything will increase in relation to class. As the classes are separated, the lower class will buy less, but the upper class will buy more, leaving only a remote control population to continue to plug the vacuum that will not seem like it is any different. They will stop driving their cars because the work they do will come to them, because of great technological advances in communications. They will stop shopping because of great technological advances that make going to the stores such a pain. They will stop leaving their artificial environments because of the chance of contracting viruses, pollution, or some other various reasoning that comes off as being reasonable, mostly because a talking head says so.
Heat will be acclimated to the thoughts, and real differences in the synthetic environment of the new urban city states will exist mostly in the minds of the inhabitants. Giving that they will not realize they are living in this plastic version of utopia, it only reminds me of the truth of the history of most other civilizations, as lone as the main component of the voting public can believe that they are satisfied, and the rest of the fractured population can be convinced that there is no point in trying to join the plastic sea, then the rulers can continue to manufacture the lie, and everyone is satisfied. Out in the fields the peasants farm the fields for meager rations of the masters yield. The mechanized people will receive their leveraged portion of the rice and the royalty will continue to store the balance in case they have to buy a few factions of the opposition. The fractured nature of the reality will continue to perfect until at some point that somewhere the tables are turned, not by any particular group or class, but by a far greater force, the end of the pansies. No matter how well they have organized their reality, the truth is they are far from reality.
I have looked out side my window to see what is not that which you might see when driving in your car, or looking out your window. I have seen the bare truth, the colorless reality that continues, rather than is new, but the same version of the same picture, that will continue to be the same for at least another 100 years. What happens after that, or whenever the truth suddenly comes to the surface. It never does. It bubbles forth in slow deliberate pacification, un-noticed by all but the most aware, who will be sent into the worst place, the bare reality without any blinders, where they will have to realize that we still live in caves, and still fight for our survival, and will always be prey, even as we prey on the synthetic representations of what may at one time have been a real world, but has long since been corrupted into some facsimile of a world, with color tinted filters that obscures the shadowy realty full of pain and all other forms of emotion that is carefully bled out of the paroles and the party members, to feed the insatiable appetites of the energy hungry royalty, and their masters.
I always feel like such an idiot when I talk, so now I just keep doing it because it is an exercise in futility that just gives me something better to do than detonating other arguments. The past presents the future in the same sanguine light.
Sleep well...
-James-
Chicken little is falling, and she won't get up. The end of the world as we know it is far from coming to a television station in your area. By the time it is announced on your local network, or in your favorite web blog, the time will be gone. Oh, wait it already is.
Perfectly manicured lawns are a true sign of demise. When there is too much for you to do, and you have no time for the rest, you know that you should really be out there trimming the hedges and spreading more fertilizer on the lawns.
What I am waiting for is the searing reality that will certainly come, but probably at such a slow pace that most people will become accustomed to it before it even reaches the proportion necessary to make an impact. The reality is that most people will not see a difference. They will not notice that many of their neighbors are no longer around, because they will leave not in droves, but a few a time. There will not be any explosion, as the media dilutes the reality, and paints a picture that will continue to keep the idiots pacified. The cost of everything will increase in relation to class. As the classes are separated, the lower class will buy less, but the upper class will buy more, leaving only a remote control population to continue to plug the vacuum that will not seem like it is any different. They will stop driving their cars because the work they do will come to them, because of great technological advances in communications. They will stop shopping because of great technological advances that make going to the stores such a pain. They will stop leaving their artificial environments because of the chance of contracting viruses, pollution, or some other various reasoning that comes off as being reasonable, mostly because a talking head says so.
Heat will be acclimated to the thoughts, and real differences in the synthetic environment of the new urban city states will exist mostly in the minds of the inhabitants. Giving that they will not realize they are living in this plastic version of utopia, it only reminds me of the truth of the history of most other civilizations, as lone as the main component of the voting public can believe that they are satisfied, and the rest of the fractured population can be convinced that there is no point in trying to join the plastic sea, then the rulers can continue to manufacture the lie, and everyone is satisfied. Out in the fields the peasants farm the fields for meager rations of the masters yield. The mechanized people will receive their leveraged portion of the rice and the royalty will continue to store the balance in case they have to buy a few factions of the opposition. The fractured nature of the reality will continue to perfect until at some point that somewhere the tables are turned, not by any particular group or class, but by a far greater force, the end of the pansies. No matter how well they have organized their reality, the truth is they are far from reality.
I have looked out side my window to see what is not that which you might see when driving in your car, or looking out your window. I have seen the bare truth, the colorless reality that continues, rather than is new, but the same version of the same picture, that will continue to be the same for at least another 100 years. What happens after that, or whenever the truth suddenly comes to the surface. It never does. It bubbles forth in slow deliberate pacification, un-noticed by all but the most aware, who will be sent into the worst place, the bare reality without any blinders, where they will have to realize that we still live in caves, and still fight for our survival, and will always be prey, even as we prey on the synthetic representations of what may at one time have been a real world, but has long since been corrupted into some facsimile of a world, with color tinted filters that obscures the shadowy realty full of pain and all other forms of emotion that is carefully bled out of the paroles and the party members, to feed the insatiable appetites of the energy hungry royalty, and their masters.
I always feel like such an idiot when I talk, so now I just keep doing it because it is an exercise in futility that just gives me something better to do than detonating other arguments. The past presents the future in the same sanguine light.
Sleep well...
-James-
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