What Did He Say?

Brain switch...ON! Let's go. Write write write. Busy little synapses speeding information between each other, digging from memory, direct sensory input, inspiration, filtering and filing and sorting, and putting it all back together into a coherent form that makes sense, has meaning, is something more than just is. Inject purpose into life, through lies, artifice, and the smoke and mirrors of it all being show biz, and nobody knowing for certain what's what, but entertained and engulfed by the spectacle so that there's no telling anymore the line between fact and fiction if you just give yourself over to it all; the majesty. The glittering, bright majesty. Don't pay attention to the stitches and glue and seams. Don't question whether it's diamond or glass, gold or glitter, natural or dyed. It doesn't matter if the carpet matches the drapes. We're all in this together, and we'll sort it out, but let's not give in completely to harsh reality. Sleep and dream on. It is all unfolding, regardless. Wait.

Stream of consciousness. River of consciousness. Deluge of consciousness. Tidal wave of consciousness. Tsunami. Meteor shower. Meandering footpath. Gushing spigget. No time for spell checks. Ruins the pace, the moment, the stream. Bad poetry. It's all this sort of crap. A writing exercise turned to art. Art. Ha!

Andy Warhol killed Art. He delivered the killing blow to what Dada had begun. Talent and craft no longer required. Simple ideas are enough. You lack the patience, training, ability, time to see your ideas through on your own? Paste it together in a collage of other people's, better people's, illustrations and words. Hire others to do it for you. No. That's a thought of a younger, less educated me. Before I knew that it was a common practice of the masters to have their studio completing their designs. It's all a joke.

My mind is slipping. It took me a whole minute to figure out how to spell "hire". And I'm stone cold sober. Lazy brain. Polluted brain. Video games, alcohol, age, television, ...god knows what else. A good measure of carbon monoxide and other gases from a leaking exhaust system in my car, I'm sure. Lead in the water? Maybe. It's all there. All meant to slowly degrade us from birth. To keep us docile. From ourselves. No big conspiracy. Not a conscious one, anyhow. Something insidious. Working from beneath. The Uberbrain. The Underbrain. Either metaphor, the same, just a different half of the Gnostic whole. Fiber. We need more fiber.

Let those thoughts just roll. This is me. If I were truly doing this right, there'd be no paragraph breaks, right? Don't answer. I don't care. Don't mind. Don't need to know. It doesn't matter. I'm doing it how I'm doing it, and it's mine. Mind, I typed, and had to go back. Mine. Mind. Freudian slip? I'm not even here. None of us is. Are? We aren't. Consciousness is a trick. A fluke. We are not who we think we are. Consciousness is a cancer. Or can be. It fools (fuels? fulls?) us into believing we are individuals. That there is such a thing as individual accomplishment. Individual ...stuff. We can't live without air, water, food. And who would want to live without conversation or physical contact? Nobody worth having around, I guarantee. We cannot be individuals. Not autonomous. Not outside of environment. Outside of rearing and knowledge gained through the experiences of others. Anyone here care to go back and invent fire? The wheel? How short and difficult and painful and strained our lives would be without those who have set the scene before us, and those before them, and before them, and before them, and before them. How sad we are, now, for having to suffer the whims and fancies of those who live today without the knowledge forefront in their brains; their actions driven only by their own shallow and short sighted self interests. No insight, hindsight, meaningful foresight. No knowledge...or more to the point, understanding...of our history. On this planet.

Our news, our media, our watchers and announcers and reporters. What a sorry job they do. Not all of them. Just those that reach the widest audiences. Regurgitators. Like I said, no time for spell check. They do nothing more than repeat. How can a full two week cycle of news on a dead pope be justified? How? When there are real stories of corruption, government overreach, corporate strangleholds, and general wrongness in the world. Deregulation has been allowed to proliferate, with our talking heads never really delving into the history of corporations. Of the history of our robber barons, child labor laws, polluted burning rivers, unbreathable air, Bechtel charging money for rain water. Not all corporations do is evil, but they don't get a fair and balanced shake in the media. Their media.

Maybe it's time for corporations to do as world leaders once did. Higher (hire? hiar?)...fuck...HIRE! Hire ethicists. Ethisists? FUCK! No time for spell check. People what got morals and ethics, dude. Them folks. Fuck your public relations officers. Their just accountants with an extroverts streak. A knowledge of people. Bring in some folks who can give you what you're missing. And if you're running your company this way, your personal life must be a fucking mess. Care for people. Look beyond the bottom line. Everything in life is not a commodity. Of course the groundwork for declaring it so was set so long ago, that it's pretty much taken as granted fact, now.

Once you can declare ownership over land and sea...then airspace...why not the air itself? Or water? Once both are polluted enough, we surely must charge for cleaning it up for you.

Ugh.

End of Line.