THE PURPOSE OF LIFE IS NOT TO ACCEPT ANYONE ELSE’S DEFINITION OF THE PURPOSE OF LIFE
Brave New World’s good, Harry J, but I kinda prefer his The Doors Of Perception as a more complete vision of what Huxley was all about, but yer eloquent synopsis of BNW was certainly, well, eloquent. But as a Manifesto For Existence? — eh, the usual crap. The purpose of Life is to Live, and that Living is unique and unquantifiable for every single human being. Our DNA trumps any philosophy, ism, or tenet. Life cannot be contained or explained with words or ideas. It has to be Lived.
Montaigne said it best: “The thing of it is, we must live with the living.”
Manifestos, slogans, catch phrases, cant and slang come and go like Michelangelo; the constant is Freedom and Happiness, for they are intertwined, almost a single entity, one almost impossible without the other.
Original man and woman knew absolute freedom and happiness. They spent 20–30 hours a week acquiring all the food they needed. That’s 20 to 30 hours a WEEK. The rest of the time was their time, to do whatever they wanted to do. No clocks. No tracts. No philosophies. No armies. No government. No police. Bands or villages of 500 or so souls, spread out across the globe, highly literate without any kind of alphabet or written language, but each a repository of lore and survival skills that would take way too many of our “civilized” tomes to contain or explain.
That’s our shared, common heritage. Absolute Freedom. Absolute Happiness.
And that is in our grasp right now. We are World Citizens now, in a brand new Century and Millennium, with no borders but Nature’s, with no constraints again but what Nature instilled, and intolerant only to violence of any kind, whether physical, mental, economic, or environmental, since violence of any kind is anathema to Freedom and Happiness, is inimical, makes it impossible. All that Olde Millennium, 20th Century shit that Die Trumpster embodies is gone, like a fart in the wind.
If we all just snap our fingers, click our heels, and realize “There’s no place like home.”
Earth. The original homestead. It’s all we got; WE are all we got. We’re here to fuck each other, not fuck each other over.
And I would recommend “The Medium Is The Massage” by Marshall McLuhan and Quentin Fiore as a more cogent, a more “with-it” assessment and delineation of what’s really “going down”. Here’s a snippet:
“Real, total war has become information war. It is being fought by subtle electric informational media — under cold conditions and constantly. The cold war is the real war front — a surround — involving everybody — all the time — everywhere. Whenever hot wars are necessary these days, we conduct them in the backyards of the world with the old technologies. These wars are happenings, tragic games. It is no longer convenient, or suitable, to use the latest technologies for fighting our wars, because the latest technologies have rendered war meaningless. The hydrogen bomb is history’s exclamation point. It ends an age-long sentence of manifest violence!”
That was written in 1967.
And we’re still allowing this shit to happen, to fight wars in somebody else’s backyard. What kinda chickenshit assholes have we let ourselves become? WE gotta change it, WE gotta stop it, WE gotta do it. WE, THE PEOPLE.
Either WE make the Future or we reshit the past.
Which gets us this electorally-elected turd flushing the Blight House.
C’mon ya fuckers! I know you know! Ya try to obfuscate it with hatred, pharmaceuticals, avarice, over-consumption, bellicosity, and jingoism, but you know this could easily be a Paradise we could all be sharing now, and our only excuse for why it’s not is that we’re . . . chickenshit assholes . . .
Man, ain’t ya fuckers tired of this same ol’ shit? Ain’t ya tired of being a chickenshit asshole? Ain’t ya tired of arrogant gasbags like me and Harry J. always haranguing ya? Well then. . . .
