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We are “Outrage Junkies”
Lifted from a comment
by Monolycus
Oh, come on. It’s not like this is the first time Bush has demonstrated contempt for the will of the people. Ten million human beings protested his proposed invasion of Iraq in 2003 (more, if one can believe the rumours, than had ever protested against any single cause in human history)… and his response? He described them as a "focus group" and gave them a very insincere "I respectfully disagree". To describe this administration as having a ears of tin is missing the larger point; they have hearts of stone and I.O.U.’s where their souls should be. Do not act surprised by the latest demonstrations of sociopathic behaviour when that has been evident all along.
The problem is that these personality defects are not confined to certain individuals, or even political parties. This is who we are, people. This is the culture we are so damned proud of. And a significant part of this culture that creates these antisocial, anti-environmental, inhumane monsters is pretending that we despise it. We pretend to be shocked by each new glimmer of atrociousness no matter how often we are faced with the same behaviours from the same sources; and all the while, we are really just happily devouring the misery as fast as it can be produced by the cultural byproducts we continue to create and support with our values.
We’re like "outrage junkies"… we produce excrement simply to be offended by it. Makes us feel a bit better about our own meaninglessness. It would defeat the purpose for us to address and correct the problems we complain about because the real problems are we, ourselves. "Powerful people" with tin ears, disastrous policies and a demonstrable contempt for the populus are only symptoms. If we cured those symptoms, we would have to trade our beloved outrage for the hard work of trying to repair the damage the symptoms have done. I haven’t seen any evidence that anyone really wants to make that trade. Not as long as we can continue to be appalled anew over the same old shit that is taking us all to the grave.
The Prince and the Magician
Once upon a time there was a young prince, who believed in all things but three. He did not believe in princesses, he did not believe in islands, and he did not believe in God. His father, the king, told him that such things did not exist. As there were no princesses or islands in his father’s domains, and no sign of God, the young man believed his father.
But then, one day, the prince ran away from his palace. He came to the next land. There, to his astonishment, from every coast he saw islands, and on these islands, strange and troubling creatures whom he dared not name. As he was searching for a boat, a man in full evening dress approached him along the shore.
“Are those real islands?” asked the young prince.
“Of course they are real islands,” said the man in evening dress.
“And those strange and troubling creatures?”
“They are all genuine and authentic princesses.”
“Then God also must exist!” cried the prince.
“I am God,” replied the man in full evening dress, with a bow.
The young prince returned home as quickly as he could.
“So you are back,” said his father, the king.
“I have seen islands, I have seen princesses, I have seen God,” said the prince reproachfully.
The king was unmoved.
“Neither real islands, nor real princesses, nor a real God, exist.”
“I saw them!”
“Tell me how God was dressed.”
“God was in full evening dress.”
“Were the sleeves of his coat rolled back?”
The prince remembered that they had been. The king smiled. “That is the uniform of a magician. You have been deceived.”
At this, the prince returned to the next land, and went to the same shore, where once again he came upon the man in full evening dress.
“My father the king has told me who you are,” said the young prince indignantly. “You deceived me last time, but not again. Now I know that those are not real islands and real princesses, because you are a magician.”
The man on the shore smiled. “It is you who are deceived, my boy. In your father’s kingdom there are many islands and many princesses. But you are under your father’s spell, so you cannot see them.”
The prince returned pensively home. When he saw his father, he looked him in the eyes.
“Father, is it true that you are not a real king, but only a magician?”
The king smiled, and rolled back his sleeves.
“Yes, my son, I am only a magician.”
“Then the man on the shore was God.”
“The man on the shore was another magician.”
“I must know the real truth, the truth beyond magic.”
“There is no truth beyond magic,” said the king.
The prince was full of sadness.
He said, “I will kill myself.”
The king by magic caused death to appear. Death stood in the door and beckoned to the prince. The prince shuddered. He remembered the beautiful but unreal islands and the unreal but beautiful princesses.
“Very well,” he said. “I can bear it.”
“You see, my son,” said the king, “you too now begin to be a magician.”
Posted by: Uncle $cam | Aug 14 2005 17:20 utc | 5
Og and Urg Ponder the Coming Bronze Age
Og the Young is sitting on a knoll with his older brother Urg,
breaking bones up for their marrow, and watching a young
maiden carry water jugs back and forth from a pond below.
Being Neanderthals, they only speak when truly inspired.
Urg, obsessed now with rapid knapping of flint spearpoints,
ever since Og first alerted him to slave-produced prices over
at RockMart, is banging away with his antler horn, pressure-
flaking a last razor edge on a finely formed, though slightly
ragged chert point that Urg hopes he can sell on StoneBay.
“Og, d’you ever stop to think what will happen if the hominids
come up with, say, a bronze spearpoint?” Urg sighs forlornly.
He’s already run the numbers in his head, and knows his
children will starve, toe-to-toe price-pointing with RockMart.
So thinking about bronze for him was like picking at a scab.
Og remains thoughtful, staring after the water maiden.
“But council say Urg can trade flint points to hominids.”
Urg wipes his sweating face with a leathery palm.
“Og, look, if hominids have stronger better bronze points,
why would they want our flint ones, even at a lower price?
And if they grow maize and beans instead of hunting, we
couldn’t trade them flint points even if we gave them away!
They’ll outproduce us, dump at below production costs,
and we’ll end up as their slaves, just to be able to eat.”
Og picks a tendril of meat from between his rotten teeth.
CAFTA was still ten thousand years in the future for him,
and there was that cute water maiden to think of instead.
Urg tries another tack. “Let’s play a game…. Knock, knock.”
“What’s there?” Og replies.
“10,000,000 starving Africans.”
“What Africans?”
“Exactly Og, what Africans!” says Urg, jabbering fast in case
Og decides to bash his nose in. “Soon it’ll only be hominids
and their bronze spearpoints.Maybe thousands of years from
now, even those hominids will die out, when some deus ex
machina starts producing iron spearpoints by the millions,
dumping them on the global economy under IMF and WTO.”
Og is spellbound, his fingers trying to count up to a million.
“What WTO?” Then he smacks his ham-hand on Urg’s back,
startling him. “All Og know, a tiger purrs when you feed it.”
“Yup,” smiles Urg, laughing in relief. “You’re right, Og.
And the bees sting when you try to steal their honey.”
Then having solved the riddle of existence, right there,
at the beginning of unrecorded history, both Og and Urg
wrapped their arms about each other, brothers to the end,
an end marching towards them in an inevitable extinction.
Posted by: tante aime | Aug 15 2005 3:45 utc | 20
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