Subtle Psychopathy and Schizophrenic Supermen: Direkshons to Andy    
 Direkshons to Andy
23 Jun 2003 @ 22:54, by Andy Lehman

Yes. I know it's spelled wrong. Now then...

All you can offer me is a place where I can’t be who I am. A place where I’m told what to do.

“Plod away, little one, so that we may all have our things. You must pay, you know.”

Pay for what may I ask? For the SIN of having been born into this mad little world!?

“Of course you have a choice. Except for a good part of your waking life, in which you must slave away so that we may all swim in our own idiocy. Of course you may have meaning in your life, as long as it is compatible with our absolute control over a significant portion of your energy and the main conditions of your life. No, really, you are free. This is freedom, and you ought to love it. Now, go out and find a way to slave away for us or we’re going to make your life a living hell. You’re supposed to WANT to do that, young one. Whatever is wrong with the soul who doesn’t follow our blueprint!?”

The despair doesn’t bring tears to my eyes; it just sits and beams its thoughts to me in a single icy stare. See, it’s there either way you look at it. Denied, you think it can be contained. You are wrong. I can’t ignore myself like that. I can’t be denied myself. We are, of course, free to think whatever we want. We can be whatever we want, inside. As long as our body, our actions, our words, our efforts, and everything material follows your rules. What land of opportunity? The opportunity to participate in the largest hypocrisy; the largest dissonance between inner reality and physical being? The opportunity to be whatever I want, but the compulsion to BE only what I can get hired to be, so that I may have the privilege of survival? We should feel lucky. We can do whatever we want on the weekends, just so long as it doesn’t interfere with us coming in fresh and submissive the other five days of the week, acting the part. Just as long as what we ARE, in the REAL world, doesn’t interfere with our production. I not ONLY have all of this inside, you see. If that were sufficient, then I could do what you’re asking. I have it, I AM it, and IT demands to be lived, honestly. I see through all this illusion, and yet you’re in my way, brutal and legion. No choice, and you’re perfectly willing to slaughter people, slowly or quickly, if they’re “bad” enough, to make sure no alternative ever surfaces. Corpse-soldiers of the masses, guarding the gates and telling us that we MUST be this way. Do you see what I mean? And I don’t even know how describe the despair component now; perhaps a point sinking into MY chest. Or a rope around my neck, strangling me. And YOU are tightening it, over and over. I’ve asked you to stop, for GOD’S SAKE. What do I need… no. In your heart, you are so certain that this is my only choice. And your only choice. The WORLD’S only choice, you say; the only way we humans can manage to be! Do you actually believe that? You won’t hear anything else. If I think otherwise, I must be convinced that I must comply. That is the only way you seem to see. How sad for us all.

It didn’t have to be this way. You could have stood up. But no, you too are immersed in wretched contentment so deeply that you’ve no interest in throwing it off. So you condemn me to the same thing. Your children, you condemn to the same thing. All of us, you say, must accept this like so many pack animals! “Facts of life”!? Oh, in thirty years maybe I can start making a few of my own rules. “Thinking tactically”. Maybe, if I'm really good, it'll only take ten years. Now, I must “position” myself according to the rules of this little game you all play when you’re asleep. Do you know what NECESSARY and URGENT mean? They mean, among other thins, NOW, and NO COMPROMISE. You think anyone has a right to ask for compromise on THESE things? Who, by what right? Might? You are indeed base creatures! Or, what other right? What right could justify this rape; this hypocrisy that my cooperation is actually expected in? You would claim, in the name of “society”, access to what I should be “willing” to do? How I will spend my life? What system of anything; of morals; of thought; of BEING could make this seem anything other than an atrocity that any decent being would resist with all its might!? You don’t even hear me. And you never will. You’ve shown me that much. All you hear is a squeak. All you hear is… what? I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, but it means nothing to you. Any of you. Can nothing breach your shell of normalcy? Does nothing in the entire spectrum of existence warrant a dropping of this brutal façade, even for a moment? By what name shall I implore you? God? That creation!? I’ve been doing it in my own name; me, a human being. That is the only one I have a right to, ultimately.

Shall I try other names? Compassion, caring, freedom, all of those things you ice cubes claim to know about; where are they? A fellow human is crying out. Millions of them, in fact, and my cry is one of the more muted ones. One of the ones that requires the least attention to remedy, and deserves the least just the same. You need only let us be, and stop threatening to strangle us if we don’t jump through every hoop your bureaucratic trained seals (and others) put in our way. It’s as loud as I can, this cry I’m uttering. I use big words. Big, bad words. I… i… II I. You won’t take this away from me, nor will you convince me that it’s “okay” or bloody “necessary” to keep it however I want inside, but to play this brute’s and idiot’s and empty shell’s game on the outside, with my body, or my words, or anything. Not one bit will this foolishness get from me. That is my contribution. I am here to tell you that it has gone too far; that far too much compromise is being asked of us. It will stop now. It won’t get past my door. I know you won’t listen? Will you lock us away, or cast us out to rot, or just cover your ears and ignore the most desperate pleas? I don’t know what my MOST desperate plea would sound like, but this is the best I can do right now. Maybe that most desperate one will be the silence that comes after it is too late. Even that hole won’t for a second breach your “reality”, will it? No choice will your mind ever see. Only one choice, in many variations, and you will continue to call this freedom.

I am trying to tell you that this game is a lie. Enjoy your normalcy little ones. I have come to the wrong era, the wrong planet, the wrong species, the wrong everything. Sorry to intrude upon your party. Continue to press your symbols, your gods, your countries, your money, your living rooms full of nice things, and your e-business solutions; continue to worship them, to kill for them, while you ignore the cries of real PEOPLE who are crushed under your collective feet. Be blind, be deaf, be harsh, destroy your world, or just consume it, but please don’t do me the final, ultimate injustice of trying to tell me that I didn’t try to tell you with all my heart. Or WILL you come along and crush even the last bits of dignity that smolder in this pit? Or maybe you will try to tell me why I shouldn't be suffering at all from this? Search yourselves, for there must be some insult you’ve not yet made to the human spirit.

Do I believe it? Do I actually believe that these games, pretense, and destructive constructs (get your minds around that one) are the ONLY choices, truly? No, of course not. But I am still, as are you all, “compelled” to live by it. And so many of you actually defend and justify it! Compelled by the fearless defenders of the status quo and the shepherds above them. On pain… of being left out in the cold. On pain, they feed. On pain, they build. Over and over have I pleaded; a scream or a sentence. Both are equally inert against your everyday. What of your hearts? This blood they pump through your veins; I would have thought it could have understood me. Shall I ask of your souls? No, I don’t want even to give you the opportunity to soil that. What would your souls say of themselves, after having ignored these cries from all over the world, all over the town, all over the faces of people you surely don’t hate enough to inflict this upon? There must be more to you than forcing this down my throat, or anyone else’s. Surely, you don’t feel THAT little for them? Or for me, standing before you right now? Me, a human being. Look me in the eye, damn you! Tell me that it is NOT so. Some sign of life, some sign of warmth, some sign of all those lofty ideals you claim to know of; not the ones you IMPOSE. Not even the ones you fight for. I’ve seen enough of those, and the destruction they bring to the world. I want to see the ones you believe in too much to impose; show me those, in your eyes. Compassion, generosity, freedom, in the flesh, in their raw form, uncompromised. I implore you, one final time, in the name of this look in my eyes, and this tone in my voice, and even in the name of hope, if you know of such a thing; a sign that you’re not as hard as you seem.


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