Difference between revisions of "User:BulimicMind"

Latest revision as of 09:06, 6 August 2012

Consent

Ye that harm none, do what ye will. That, where harm is defined as the violation of consent (coercion), is the beginning and end of ethics.

Are We Fighting For Freedom, Or Loving For Liberty?

Freedom is a detriment to all liberty. For too many years, man has enjoyed the freedom to wipe himself off the face of the Earth with the pressing of a few red buttons. For too many years, he has enjoyed the freedom to vote, the freedom to murder, the freedom to rob and deceive. It is this freedom that enjoys an oral fellatio in the rhetoric of the common anarchist. This assertion is a bit offensive to the finer senses. After all, aren’t liberty and freedom simply two different words for the same “good” destiny, looming paramount on the horizons of every revolutionary psychoscape? Even if they were, it would fit comprehension for the ardent hair-splitting truth-seeker to carve a new connotation into the raw marble of familiar and reoccurring nomenclature; if such a motion were to, but for the extent of a single article, enlighten or entertain the inquiring mind. In that dedication I must express my distaste for all freedom, and all the crimes it has ever helped commit against liberty. I also purge myself of all these denunciations of slavery. Anyone speaking words unkind toward the concept slavery is a hypocrite. Slavery is a requirement for all life. In order to live, you are slave to the time it takes to eat food, you are slave to favorable weather, favorable ideas, favorable sexual partners, and favorable temperature. In this way even the cynics and cavemen are contradictory, claiming to be “free” – the adjective itself, generalized and unmodified. To be wholly free is to be dead. That is the esoteric essence of the cry “give me freedom, or give me death!”, the yearning of a spoiled child for an idealized womb to return to, either maternal or sepulcher. Freedom is a degreed, quantitative measurement. In the 1000’s, my previous incarnate, if there was one, possessed the freedom to stab a duel-deemed opponent through the heart, but not the freedom to pull a magnum and riddle his soon-to-be corpse with lead. Once the portable firearm was invented, this changed. Freedom became something more valuable, more powerful, more colorful in all of it’s facets. This happened because mankind discovered a new way to harness nature that they hadn’t previously perceived. Liberty, however, retained it’s infinitive perfect value, unaltered by this happenstance utilization. Liberty, the generalized unmodified adjective itself, scorned at this new method of achieving madness that the men had commandeered. A murderer employing the power of a gun thereby makes liberty his murderee for the sake of some arbitrary personal freedom. In slaying a fellow human being, without their consent, the killer has dictated to another what freedoms they will enjoy, how, and when. Given that this scenario may only have been possible in a world of sufficient freedom, it is not too alienating to say that freedom is in fact equivalent to the largest threat to liberty: power. Power to take, power to kill, power to lie, power of every shape and size is just another freedom given a different name. The freedom to keep and bear arms? It is nothing beyond the power the reception of that freedom possesses. Without that power, their arms would be taken from them by some other, greater power, or its imaginary mandate. The mandate might say something like, “it’s too dangerous for a person to possess a gun, therefore no guns are needed”. This mandate, in presuming what constitutes dangerous and why this constituency is undesirable, defies liberty - but by farce rather than force. Liberty. As Bakunin put it, “the liberty of man consists solely in this: that he obeys natural laws because he has himself recognized them as such, & not because they have been externally imposed upon him by any extrinsic will whatever, divine or human, collective or individual.” From a personal perspective therefore, liberty may be inversely defined as the relegation of any and all power to two places: pure autonomy, and unanimous consent. So it may well be wrong of us to “fight for freedom”, or at least misleading. There are many freedoms that any anarchist must abandon to fully embrace a subservience to liberty. All freedoms to coerce, specifically. It does not flatter us to make vague denunciations of either mastery or slavery in the abstract, the two are eternally occurring and inseparable. It is more to the point what we control and are controlled by. The true anarchist, (sayeth the Scotsman), is a slave to liberty, and conversely, master of their freedoms.

Golden Numbers

Bubble in your eccentricities,

On the dotted line,

This strip owes you an IOU

For a chiseled piece of shine.

Those sacred golden numbers

Chaining the Ego to it's master the Id.

Necessity is exemplified succinctly

In what we know as the kid.

Yet as we the things purchase,

with every person possessed,

It suffices to suffer humanity to society obsessed.

This gift is our curse,

Cherished like the grandkids in your purse.

But in order to see it you'll first need to buy it.

And in order to buy it, you'll first need to pay.

Okay?

The Con Text

Fame, a fatal familiarity, bloody, massacred,

A reputation ravaged from the grave.

Their message in reaction, take it, forsake it,

Put the class into a class with a martyred octave.

A mockery! Contempt, with a jealous ferocity!

Ideas adhered to minds with a lucrative viscosity!

Kill us; kill us already, the dead men scream

To the world busy scribing letters to their law -

It's the most ironic sight you would never wish you saw.

And still the educators ream.

They're quite a precocious predatory team, it would seem.

The Mathew, Luke and John of the Beast

Convulsions.

Rolling, roiling, rupturing, rapturing eruptions of scintillating tachyon ethos.

Lingering schisms of cataclysmic collisions herald the formations of

broke baroque marbles, warbling as notes in a pitch black requiem to eternity.

Embody repose as you pause for the first cause,

but forgo muse upon the whenabouts of the last,

such consideration is the theorization of some unborn fantast.

Just know, and feel; drink, and reel –

indulge the masochistic sorrow of a thanksgiving meal.

For rapidly approaches the great judgment of God;

the pit, the hellfire, the locust, the rod!

Ration your rationalization betwixt the crux of every transsolipsistic faith;

you’ll fulfill the prophecy of your own worst nightmare, and embrace the wraith,

when the pulse at life’s end slips from your weary grasp – your voice a coarse rasp.

One complete life of fury and sound,

teething squeals and ebullitions profound,

checks out!

DNA so tightly wound, consumed, by a ritual ground.

But not to worry, there’s no need to fear.

You’ll be nowhere near. Let us praise your sacramental semetic seer!

We are but fig leaves on his burning bush,

and as each angel in every heaven screamed,

“Push! Push! Push!”,

we were stripped from divine rind as a figment in his Father’s mind.

Quakes upon Titan,

lakes upon Mars,

all varieties of shakes and bakes in all the stars,

grazing the graces of Apophis’ scars;

such is the unmattering matter warping the great race of space,

yet it is we that must make haste.

Lest we forget, in death we won’t be present to regret our acclimation

to our evolving Stag Nation.

And to think – we mock the value of our basic elation!

Is this necessary? What is the point?

Why the blue-white rock, as it careens about a solar joint?

Which eligible holy brow does every tide anoint –

whipping their cranium

to the melodious malady of metal uranium?

It’s quite unfortunate, you must digress –

that there weren’t any less to which your coveted rosary must confess.

What a mess.

FREE!dumb

Oceanic mists assaulting monochromatic cliffs,

floating, gloating, deterministically undisturbed.

Blastocysts adorning a uteran wall,

Nutrient circulation, nary a single cell curbed-

Liberty! Autonomy! Enviable perfection of indomitable self-rule!

What traits thusly shared with an American fool?

The resident president, fax assessor extraordinaire,

Tax exempt, in a justice so fair!

Preside such majesty, but don’t call that a King!

Throw your lexicon into the propagandist’s ring.

Representative, executive, commander-in-chief:

Such are the praises the patriots sing!

With a congress assembled of four thirty-five,

What connotation of freedom three-hundred million could derive,

I would not venture to describe.

Incarcerated, the stigmatized sum a whopping one percent -

The moralled and mannered, cultured and catered, reply “repent, repent!”

Buy this, and get five free!

Clear your acne, just scrub and see!

Now hiring: the enthusiastically employed.

All to fund your cousin’s crusade to Iraq deployed.

Tap our water, tap the trees, tap the mail we earn in fees –

behold this populace that walks on it’s knees!

Arise, subordination – conjure caring coordination!

Self-summon, revolt – urge the social phoenix's molt!

Emerge, freethought – inquire of what has been taught!

Cast away these chains as the Cynic abandons his cup:

To non-representatives, indies far and near,

the servant indentured to yes-men and year,

the whole of a nation embroiled with fear -

Serfs up!

War

War is waged, upon the lands

Where justice holds, and glory stands?

War is fought - and for what reason?

Control of land, or for treason?

Blood is spilled, upon the place,

Where nature once stood, once full of grace.

Plains are burned, upon the soil

Where bodies lie, and corpses spoil.

Trumpets sound, and soldiers cry,

Battles rage and people die.

They've kept on fighting, through and though,

I don't think they'll ever stop. Do you?

Torrid Tavern

Sordid cavern of the torrid tavern,

A rank but redeeming place

Some hops and a scotch alleviate sobriety’s watch

yet neglect a sprawling shoelace.

Responsibility? More than so.

A response quite slurred is all but assured,

Would you ask this drunkard so low,

“to what goals are your gains allured?”

‘My marriage,’ he’ll respond,

‘Source of an endless prattle’,

And to the door he’ll abscond,

Like a cooped-up cricket of compressed skidattle.

But if you were to keep him,

and continue to press,

he’d provide proper prognosis

of his pangs for redress.

‘I’m employed by quite a scrupulous Lloyd,

and furnished survival by being annoyed.

I’m undertaker for the portraits of presidents,

Printed papyrus, palmed and pasty,

A prized possession, not very tasty –

But I can more than make do!

How dare you suggest of my labor invest!’

Torrid Tavern! Pitiful purgatory of every proletaire soul!

But to propose a progressive route is to insult the slave’s role.

Now it’s not just the barrels, bongs, or bars

Waging war on wage’s woes

The century dawned, and indenturies spawned,

Tethered by technology’s troughs.

Blinking box of a billion-ounce bottle!

Entertain us! Detain us!

For all is well and good,

Enlighten us! Frighten us!

To the coals of hell, if you could?

A mile to here and a mile to there,

But a wave warps distance, and pierces the air –

Such is the state, such is our fate,

in this pane-glass hour so ostensibly late.

Who among us dares turn down the dial?

What manhood cares to walk that extra mile?

FAILURE! That’s the grade that those are deemed.

And in all fairness, that must be what is seemed.

Rolling the dice, dolling the vice –

Nonparticipants are losers to those playing the game.

Forward race, rats! To the same tame fame.

Note To The Reader

Unless I alone possess the copyright, you possess the right to copy as well as I.

But beware that you don't then lie. Hello, my name is B. M. Burner, goodbye.