The Corruption of Consumerism

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The power lies in the dollar. The rich and powerful have enormous hordes of cash. They’ve accumulated this perceived energy through the working class consumers. They are capitalist because they have capitalized on the spending patterns of the average person. We, as a society, are materialists, consumers, and the ones that run the world. Without our income, as low as it may be, the rich would be unable to capitalize on our spending patterns or our need to work for them. In effect, they need to pay us so that we may spend. The illusion of monetization and privatization must be upheld with the utmost scrutiny.

What we as consumers must realize is that we in truth have all the power. If everyone decided not to use Snapchat, and move to Instagram all at once, Snapchat’s value would be nothing aside from the physical liquefiable assets such as servers and data they may own, patents, and/or all owned properties. If everyone decided to stop buying bananas, they would cease to exist all together (with the exception of those capable of growing banana trees out of novelty). No one would have a financial incentive to create bananas. This goes for everything you can think of that is bought and sold globally.

If our internal desires spoke their virtuous ideals through our spending patterns, we would live in a more benevolent society. The wealthiest people would be the most accomplished in almost every aspect. The poorest would be the most ignorant and least creative. But even then if global apathy is as it is now, the poor would remain poor. If to be empathetic were a virtue, and if society upheld our virtues, there would be no poverty. The rich accomplished creatives would feel endowed with a sense of generosity; knowing that we all thrive if we all win. There is no unity with privatization, no patriotism with bipartisanship, no brotherhood with bigotry, no life with monetization.

Rise

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There is something happening right now on this Earth. Aside from a great plague, deep pedophile rings within the wealthy elite being exposed, geopolitical tensions being at a all time high, UFOs appearing nonchalantly, climate change causing massive storms, and a great political divide likely to spark a civil war—a great awakening is occurring.

Right now, there are people taking to the streets to protest against the systemic oppression of African Americans by the police who condone this behavior nationwide. There are people taking to the streets to protests against police brutality in general. There are people taking to the streets to picket for human rights. There are people taking to the streets to protests against racism. There are people taking to the streets to protests against the president and conservatives. There are people taking to the streets to riot, loot, and destroy the system that has disenfranchised them.

Online, discussions are opening up about these topics. One side perceives the police as brutal authoritarians who abuse their powers. The other sees policing as a positive necessary social service for our communities. It seems both sides agree that kneeling on someones neck for almost 9 minutes until their dead is not good policing. There is a middle path.

Police must oust their own “bad apples” just as the protestors must oust the rioters and looters not involved with the peaceful protests. Everyone has an equal duty and responsibility within their position to uphold justice as our own system fails us daily in providing it for us. The rampant corruption and blatant disregard for the common good is appallingly apparent. It is clear that financial dominance is what rules us humans. It is this slave mentality that takes our individual power to be the direct change our country and world so desperately needs.

We must awaken from the Machiavellian factionalism that is being used to split red and blue, black and white, father against son, brother against sister, and neighbor against neighbor. Until you realize there is no democrat, liberal, independent, republican, or conservative, then you will truly see what has been done to our country.

“He who has not even a knowledge of common things is a brute among men. He who has an accurate knowledge of human concerns alone is a man among brutes. But he who knows all that can be known by intellectual energy, is a God among men.” —Unknown

“He who cannot draw upon three -thousand years is living from hand to mouth.”

I am

I am not my job.
I’m bigger.
Bigger than this room.
Than these corporations,
The government, these nations.
Planets, Galaxies, this universe.
Time, gravity, material.
An apparition adrift in the cosmos.
And yet I am everything.
I’m you, her, them, us.
Fragments of light, bottled & pickled.
Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh.

Telesphorus: From Carl Jung

At the height of his life, Carl Jung was discovering the secrets of the Alchemical. He built a fortress of solitude near the river of Zurich. A stone monument was erected by Jung in which he inscribed Latin phrases. One reads:

CGJung

“I am an orphan, alone; nevertheless I am found everywhere. I am one, but opposed to myself. I am youth and old man at one and the same time. I have known neither father nor mother, because I have had to be fetched out of the deep like a fish, or fell like a white stone from heaven. In woods and mountains I roam, but I am hidden in the innermost soul of man. I am mortal for everyone, yet I am not touched by the cycle of aeons.” -C.J.

Prior to this account, Jung was deep within his academic career as a psychologist. Until a series of apparitions and premonitions occurred within dreams. He began to be drawn to the Gnostic’s, his unconscious was sending him mysterious signs. “The material brought to light from the unconscious had, almost literally, struck me dumb.” (Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections) He endeavored to discover the eternal truth’s of the universe.

“Consciously, deliberately, then, I abandoned my academic career. For I felt that something great was happening to me and I put my trust in the thing which I felt to be more important sub specie aeternitatis. I knew that it would fill my life, and for the sake of that goal I was ready to take any kind of risk.”

And so began the Jungian transmutation…

The Pale Rider

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Walking into to town the others see me coming.
They turn with askance at my rider who sways to and fro.
Head down to shun the sun with the brill of his cap.
Though I be the sober, he be the other.

Drinking water from my trough, he journey’s to the bar.
Avoiding the others at stools end.
Deep in contemplation he seems to be.
Not a glance up, nor the tip of a cup.

Back on the saddle he sways to meet the days end.
Leaving town they bid farewell and see his hollowed eyes.
Not knowing whither to he goes, or from whence he came.
We leave prompt all the same and he asks for no ones name.

I steer him here and there as if I know the way myself.
Wishing on the stars we meet our journey’s end on the moon itself.

If I Could Give You the Stars and Outer Space

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What sort of love is this?
Do you think of me when the morning dew hits?
In my arms do you feel any bliss,
A sudden need for a kiss?
There is love, but of what kind?
Confused passion for we are blind.
We are the scars left on another over time.
Or have we settled-assuming true love we’ll never find?
I feel no warmness from you.
When times of happiness are seldom few.
Why do we return expecting something new?
My inmost thoughts you pretended you knew.
I don’t want love like your movies on lifetime.
You should already know me without a lifeline.
I wish we had met at the right time,
Never really felt you to be all mine.
You fight yourself from change.
Both of us can’t seem to act our age.
But I somehow found a way,
Into my soul- things I cannot convey.

If this is what I’m left with,
I’ll have nothing at all.
Love has become some myth
Leading me unto the Fall.

From ‘Self-Reliance’

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This next excerpt is from one of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s most famous essays. Eloquently put, with such imaginative and broad diction, by far one of my favorite authors. I could read and reread his essays throughout my life and still find conceptual insights to dwell into like a warm blanket in the winter. The essay also delves into conformity and the need for individuality.

“The objection to conforming to usages that have Ralph_Waldo_Emerson_cph.3b20760become dead to you is, that it scatters your force. It loses your time and blurs the impression of your character. If you maintain a dead church, contribute to a dead Bible-society, vote with a great party either for the government or against it, spread your table like base housekeepers,-under all these screens I have difficulty to detect the precise man you are. And, of course, so much force is withdrawn from your proper life. But do your work, and I shall know you. Do your work, and you shall reinforce yourself. A man must consider what a blindman’s-bluff is this game of conformity. If I know your sect, I anticipate your argument.

There is ample conformity occurring this day day of age. The America’s are rampant with political divisions, racial divides, gender warfare, cultural genocide, class factionalism-not even the state’s nor the federal government properly working in unison. It is up to us citizens to become individual, to criticize your party for not adhering to your wishes; be no party but of yourself and your individual wishes and needs. We are scattered as individuals, adhering to the broadest statements of all sorts of generalities. We possess the most advanced technology in our hands, on our desks; yet we are fickle to our mobile applications, gaining nothing but a new high score, learning nothing but of gossip and media.

I hear a preacher announce for his text and topic the expediency of one of the institutions of his church. Do I know beforehand that not possibly can he say a new and spontaneous word? Do I not know that, with all this ostentation of examining the grounds of the institution, he will do no such thing? Do I not know that he is pledged to himself not to look but at one side,-the permitted side, not as a man, but as a parish minister? He is a retained attorney, and these airs of the bench are the emptiest affection. Well, most men have bound their eyes with one or another handkerchief, and attached themselves to some one of these communities of opinion.

When man is placed to service under an institution, he does not draw from the self or the individual, but rather the institution itself. They behave based upon protocol, therefore they are in fact not themselves at all, but cloned creatures of the entity they serve. Priests and ministers are held to one book, one ideology, they cannot say or do anything that is new or has not been heard of.

This conformity makes them not false in a few particulars, authors of a few lies, but false in all particulars. Their every truth is not quite true. Their two is not the real two, their four not the real four; so that every word they say chagrins us, and we know not where to begin to set them right. Meantime nature is not slow to equip us in the prison-uniform of the party to which we adhere. We come to wear one cut of face and figure, and acquire by degrees the gentlest asinine expression. There is a mortifying experience in particular, which does not fail to wreak itself also in the general history; I mean “the foolish face of praise,” the forces smile which we put on in company where we do not feel at ease in answer to conversation which does not interest us. The muscles, not spontaneously moved, but moved by a low usurping willfulness, grow tight about the outline of the face with the most disagreeable sensation.”

MIA

To whoever actually reads any of this,

I’ve been working steadily since May, not a lot of personal time feels like I’ve enslaved myself. I apologize for the sudden break in writing, I have strayed from the self. As the world continues to corner itself, I hope my writings reach who they need to. In the coming years we will hopefully see the truth break free-the revealing. The Revelation or Apocalypse, as you frightened may call it. The translation from Greek apokalyptein “uncover, disclose, reveal” doesn’t seem to mention hell on Earth.

Heil Trump

 

It Twitches and Festers

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The levee’s been pushed to a brink,
If caught in the midst a heavy heart would sink.
Tears from heaven pour down hardened rain.
if only such a thing could wash away the pain.

Quiet and somber I feel your despair.
The shell of a man forewarned to beware.
And still she told me she gets what she wants,
Shifting emotions nullified if the past still haunts.

Our love is a cauldron mixed of bitters and sweets.
While my once wicked ways through your scars it seeps.
Aches in my chest from happiness divest;
Too little, too late—what once was, now irate.

Forgiveness a thing only measured by time,
and through it all I just wish you were mine.
To you I seek to do good—for all I repent
but kindness is misunderstood with outcry’s of resent.

Are you the dawn that had already set,
or the sunrise I never knew I had met?

Painting by William Blake