A mildly blasphemous letter, lightly edited for publishing
to Sir Tom the JSTOR-slayer:
For the believers, the credules, everything earthly is about the survival of the spirit beyond the body and its terran home, but then they need the body to get through that, therefore everything is really about the survival of the body moving toward the survival of the spirit beyond the body.
Their owners, the company of invisible directors, the originators of the dark script, don't believe that, they believe solely in the survival of the body plain and simple.
And hey by the way all things static we're now about 20 years away from access to physical immortality, and closing fast with unexpected leaps of exponential progress expected that will shorten that magnificently - in the "we" sense of a shared general phenotype if not immediate shared production and reward. Like how "we" live longer now already than ever before. Unless the reader is an Iraqi or Kenyan teenager or etc mortuus etc. Not a "we".
Why are there so many stupid credulous people around, if that is not an evolutionary trait of much goodness? Where's Darwin on that?
Because it 'is' an e.t.o.m.g., just not for our ilk.
Credulous stupid people make wonderful slaves, and that's what that is all about.
Slaves out of Egypt, slaves out of Birmingham, slaves out of Detroit Michigan, slaves out of work, begging for bread for their children, willing to do anything.
The story as it's published has some narrative errors.
Follow the lyrical dot along the lines and verses of the Passover tale.
Lamb's blood cast on the lintels of the doorways of the Chosen. Why?
Because the angelofthelord needed a sign to differentiate the the elect from the plague-bound preterite.
This is the seemingly myopic angel of the one true almighty all-seeing all-knowing one true divine whatam. But Egypt was dim in them days, what? Murky. No streetlights, no headlights. So significators were required.
Unless there's a more mundane explanation, unless it was closer to an act of bio-war than genuine divine retribution, unless that angelofthelord was more human than celestial.
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My guess is there's a neo-Passover in the works.
Everybody has the concept of footprint now, carbon or what have you. Globalwarmingcarbonfootprint-ohdearguilt.
Even the relatively dull can then jump from the print back to the descending foot. Many have. But it is taboo to discuss publicly, even as it drives much of the geo-political day-to-day in one squalid form or other.
Too many feet work as terms in that equation way more snugly than reduction of consumption in an exponential growthrate population and its gimme-that economies..
Too many feet? Slice. Pare. Trim. Viola!
Plenty of fuel real estate air water and if you hit the demographic numbers just right the economies scale back down to the reasonable. And more or less sustainable.
So the contest will be, and has been for centuries, for position going in to the cull. Nice guys don't even finish in that scenario. Unless they're malleable enough and unimaginative enough to serve the Next Iteration of Human. The New. Vicit Keani.
A small minority of chauvinist arrogant delusional bastards whose moral valence is always and only themselves, accompanied protected and surrounded by, served semi-unwittingly by, a self-maintaining mass of dim-witted credules who are easily directed by relatively low-tech sign and wonder.
Sound anything like US political reality?
Who needs anybody else? Say the aforementioned and their domestic help.
A bunch of slaves and a ruling elite of the Chosen and Chosen Again.
And us, the erstwhile campaigners, the resistant and unbowing, we're all fragmented up now, clotted into affinity groups of handfuls of this's and that's with unalignable nebulosities of goal and purpose.
Spartacus where are you?* Vercingtorix! William Wallace! Sitting Bull! Geronimo! Chief Joseph!
Shit I'd take Attila even, against the hidden sycophancy that leads us now.
All those lovable manly losers replaced by grovelling duplicitous assholes. The meek, generally, the vicious bloodthirsty meek.
Darwin don't mind, says, "Hey. Whatever works, man."
Where are the heroes we need and right now? Genetically manipulated out of the social genome. Bred out of the stock. Buried in past and legend and myth.
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*Not to mention the real Jesus, the one who was killed for rocking the boat. Not the one who was broadcast like a hologram against the walls of Europe posthumous decades later - and shines these still millenia later through the stained glass of fantasy and cathartic entertainment - after the lions had their surfeit and exeunt omnes, after the aforementioned finally realized that co-option would be a way more likely strategy than persecution, which just keeps creating those damned pesky martyrs. No, you need to get out in front of the wave and ride it like you owned it all along.
Paul of Tarsus and the Great Switcheroo.
That is what looks to have happened.
Ever contemplate the statistical reality of most if not all of us having names which are essentially Hebraic prayers?
An accident of history. Or possibly not.
Convincing the dog you really are a god isn't hard, because he already believes it pretty much.
and that's how I'm doing
how about you?
