Sunday, 11 October 2015

From the Journals of Oz...

It's a propaganda war.
Somehow the vast majority of people have been led along a path of mundane feudalism to a land of unremarkable, workaday nonexistence. They are sold the idea they can win if only they work harder, work smarter and work longer. All the shepherds require is for the sheep-like masses to continue working for the benefit of the few. It's as if those who have false wealth or stand in a self-imposed, self-regulated position of authority are to be catered to without opposition.
Obedience is the real scourge of modern society.
In the past, common men and women were forced, through fear and lack of education, to obey the inane misgivings of those who would lead. In the past, men like Amin or Hitler or the leaders of the industrial revolution and the Dark Ages and the Roman Empire and industrialized nations used brute force to keep human sheep from wandering off a broken-glass strewn path, citing the pain inflicted as the price of their salvation. It was those leaders who founded the idea that those with few resources were worth less and mere pawns in the fabric which they, the leaders, created in their own best interest... all the while dangling a carrot of false hope and imaginary enlightenment to the beleaguered.
Over time, the masses have become more intelligent; better read, more culturally diverse, more accepting of various viewpoints, more able to solve problems in unconventional ways, more knowledgeable of the workings of our world. Yet by and large they follow the same self-indulgent, self-propagating rules of those who believe they are kings without any thought of stepping outside an imaginary electric fence. The imagined foot of self-indulgent kings pushed at the throats of the many and the many feeling the force of the foot without that foot actually existing.
Despite increasing knowledge, the same demented, feudal mindset still proliferates from the Dark Ages and the Egyptian Empire and beyond.
We have been sold that he who has the hammer hits the nails without considering who made the hammer.
Without thought, many follow along the well trod trail with a propaganda nose ring tugged fervently from time to time by hand selected mass media. They are left believing their only goal in life is to outlast the person next to them. My insularism from the world was a choice to remove the ring and step off the path. Free of the propaganda, I am left to watch in rapt horror as the remarkably unremarkable are lauded while the rest are tugged past by nonexistent strings. I watch as extraordinary people lead a quotidian life where the only goal, it seems, is avoiding adversity or cultural banishment and to simply survive the longest.
Civil disobedience is the antidote for the common man.
There are far too many among the throng who have cast aside their wands and given up their power for the effortless road; the road of complacency and mindlessness and ultimate un-celebrated death. Millions have been slaughtered by blind obedience in wars. Millions have died of poverty while the fortunate few look on citing "if they would only become good citizens and play by the rules, this wouldn't happen." Millions more have died living in complacency and giving in to the puppeteers.
We are sold a blasphemous monologue of hope. Things mean more than people.
I have become an army of one, stepping off the path away from the herd to reclaim my identity. I search for those who have also escaped, though they seem to be few. I have left those who would follow along blindly. I have left the deepening, mostly inescapable rut and the nostril clogging dust of a billion chained, dragging feet to smell the invitation offered by life away from the captive herd.
I have chosen to resist simply by no longer following and to do what I know in my heart is right and just and honest. My chosen path is no path at all... to exist among those who choose to walk beside me for whatever time they choose... and to no longer be dragged by the nose.
I understand the enormity of my task; to whisper into the ears of those who pass in the unending line with wistful hope a few will hear and understand... and join me.
I have a hope that perhaps, one day, I will bear witness a rebirth... to critical mass.