I’ve seen the future, baby, it is murder
The movie got it all wrong. It’s not the natural born killers who are the greatest threat to our societies: it’s the natural born cattle.
First, a little story though, that is as pathetic as it is infuriating. It is also, in a very sick way, terribly enlightening. It reminds me of a BBC TV show, called ‘This is your life’. One could show the following story on all the existing networks and simply call it, ‘This is our civilization’:
Fifty-three children died between 1998 and 2005 after state child welfare workers assigned to protect them committed serious errors, made lapses in judgment and ignored their own rules. Children were beaten, burned, smothered, shaken and starved to death by their parents or other adults, even though the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services was supposed to be protecting them, according to an investigation by the Belleville News-Democrat.
In one case, a full-term baby girl — posthumously named Vanessa — died in a ramshackle house in Venice when her mentally ill mother, Jaki Ingram, delivered her into a waste-filled toilet. The DCFS suspended a caseworker and a supervisor for failing to properly assess the case over a five-year period.
In another case, 2-year-old Miracle Moon, of Chicago, died when her mother’s boyfriend pushed her head under water because, according to a prosecutor, she was slow at potty training. A medical examiner found more than 50 human bite marks on her buttocks.
When asked about these cases a spokesperson for the DCFS said:
“Through the Office of the Inspector General, death investigations and the (regional) Child Death Review Teams, DCFS examines each of these cases using a process that has been demonstrated over time to work. Both of these efforts use independent experts to investigate the department’s performance in these cases and continually improve practices, through a process that is purposefully transparent and accountable to the public.”
Quite. We have become a ‘civilization’ of passive, if endlessly greedy consumers of shit. We don’t live: we watch. We do not think: we follow procedures.
We worry about nonsensical issues, like passive smoking, while we allow the ‘market’ to push their sugar-loaded, fatty products on to our children, and we watch how the big corporations treat their customers, our children, with the same respect any lowlife drugs dealer would give to his crack whore clients - and we shrug it off. There’s some news about Britney we don’t want to miss. Some stupid new digital toy we have a craving for.
There’s always something that allows us to forget that we are adults, with obligations, with responsibilities – and with some serious problems that need our attention. We have created millions of evil, little distractions, that turn us into non-voting, non-participating, non-thinking and no-fucking-good-for-anything, moral morons.
And no, Bush is not the problem. Osama is not the problem. Both of them are pathetic, little clowns. Painted devils, if you like. They will grow old and impotent, getting to be more pathetic each and every year - and then they’ll just die and turn to dust.
Politicians and madmen are not the problem. We are the problem. We, the remote addicts. We, the cattle. We, who will watch our children become fat little addicts, who will watch our whole world turn to shit before we would even consider to do without our own pathetic little fixes.
Like mindless drones we watch, in our millions, some billionaire telling us about ‘empowerment’. It truly is as sickening as it is wildly funny. The talkshow hostess tells us how all of us count, because, as God’s children, each of us is unique and ‘entitled.’
‘We are unique. We are entitled.’ the millions upon millions of identically dead-eyed zombies agree with their Idol.
Maybe you’ve heard of the poet Charles Simic; maybe not. He was born in Serbia and brought up under Nazi occupation, before he was brought to the USA in his teens.
He has seen things. He knows things. When he speaks we should pay attention. I don’t think that we will, of course but I will end my rant with his poem, called ‘Help wanted‘:
They ask for a knife
I come running
They need a lamb
I introduce myself as the lamb
A thousand sincere apologies
It seems they require some rat poison
They require a shepherd
For their flock of black widows
Luckily I’ve brought my bloody
Letters of recommendation
I’ve brought my death certificate
Signed and notarized
But they’ve changed their minds again
Now they want a songbird, a bit of springtime
They want a woman
To soap and kiss their balls
It’s one of my many talents
(I assure them)
Chirping and whistling like an aviary
Spreading the cheeks of my ass
If you enjoyed this post, subscribe today to get free updates by email or RSS.
