My Writers Circle

The Coffee Shop => The Gallery => Topic started by: NothingName1 on June 21, 2018, 06:00:18 PM

Title: When Men Were Slaves
Post by: NothingName1 on June 21, 2018, 06:00:18 PM
I recall that its reality lived on, stubbornly, in its unflinching superficiality; and I, a disease, lived beside it. Imposing upon me in such a fashion, I needed constantly to justify my existence—an existence which I confess, had become obsolete. The game then, became one of: who is hoaxing the other? If I am to believe the mute abstractions of the monstrously cruel superstructure—for I can not help but be encoded by its money-logic. And finding myself on the poorer end, being always in want of money; I could not help but conclude this money business was a sham, and a conspiracy of the greatest magnitude.
   Firstly, I never agreed to the use of money, nor to be delimited by its fictions; and yet, like a brood-parasite it stole into me, and made itself at home. Perhaps, as a child I desired some toys, trinkets, sweets... I can't recall when, or what exactly, but the case being at some point the association of my desires with money was inseparably coupled. That is quite a harmless thing, you may think; but I put it to you most gravely, it is not. As at some point, we must all invariably make our means, and go out into the world, so to speak. And so, still a boy, I was put to work, as a clerk for a brokerage by the name of Stanfords. First hand, I experienced the grotesque wheedling of money, of such immense sums as to reduce Sardanapalus to a mere pauper by comparison. And yet everywhere there was poverty, men reduced to such squalor, directly or indirectly as result of the trading, hoarding, swindling, and price-gouging which was daily practiced at the Stanford House.
   Being a highly sensitive young man, I found it impossible not to draw certain connections. I saw every action whether, a trade, sale, or the hiring of men, was made under the expectation and compulsion of profit. Therefore, there was not a single action, or transaction which excluded this principle; I reasoned, that if these great powerhouses of business were indeed interested in money alone, they would have long ago accrued every cent in the realm; however, money was only a means, an extractive process. The question remains, if not money, then what exactly was being extracted? It is with a saddened heart, I report here, I believe it was the living essence of man, and a claim upon all that remains to him, who has been robbed of his land, his property and his sovereignty: his labour—to be squandered, and hoarded idly, as unproductively as the system will permit.
   Was the modern man then, not lower than a slave? Who, at the very least, possessed his labour with a certainty. Unlike the modern slave, who must compete to sell his labour, to a class of slave-holders, who, in overabundant supply; more often than not turned him away? Was not the modern slave then, being worked through by technology; his limbs amputated by machines, whilst what remains was cast aside, discarded, unceremoniously. A thing apart from man and nature, history, culture... a thing, sent back in time to the most wretched and primitive state of human existence.
   It is with regret, and deep shame, I saw the hypnotic power of money over man. That, regardless of the hundreds of years of technological advancements in all fields of production: robotics, agriculture, automation, distribution, logistics, e&c. In the undeserving and guilt-ridden mind of most slaves, they simply bore no relation to these things, as if were not a part of a shared human history. To the extent that slave-holders managed to conceal these advances, a strange fictional world, was born. Men lived in this unreality in a state of fear and madness. And there seemed to be no limit to how low the collective slaves could be reduced; nurtured into egoistic thought: they were raised, not to think—how does this benefit our society? But, how does this benefit me? And so, a very strange creature was born—an isolated slave-hermit, whose only permitted action, was to strive for his own advancement to the detriment of others. Taken as a whole, the system was decidedly, genocidal.
   To be sure, it was a very strange system. And it was not so much an economy, as a religion. It was only masquerading as an economy. In practice, it was a cult. A rigid social hierarchy, whose article of faith was science, whose fetishism was the commodity, and whose hagiographic imagery was stamped upon the circulation of its fraudulent money supply. The slaves continued to believe they were free; despite the fact, there had been no reduction in their work week in over two hundred and fifty years; and that poverty still stalked every section of society. Despite the fact, the slave-holder's government increased  the retirement to age 70, and reintroduced child-labour.
          One day, however, the slaves, lost faith—and then they started to believe.
Title: Re: When Men Were Slaves
Post by: Mark T on July 03, 2018, 06:04:38 PM

Interesting read - 

Ego is a function of power which is a function of money which is a function of ego. .
Title: Re: When Men Were Slaves
Post by: heidi52 on July 03, 2018, 06:11:12 PM
Dickens, redux.

Enjoyed the read, thanks for sharing.
Title: Re: When Men Were Slaves
Post by: Mark T on July 03, 2018, 06:20:26 PM
Gasp - a live one spotted at MWC or is it a ghost of Heidi past?  :o
Title: Re: When Men Were Slaves
Post by: heidi52 on July 04, 2018, 09:56:57 AM
You knew I'd come back to haunt MWC!  8)
Title: Re: When Men Were Slaves
Post by: Mark T on July 04, 2018, 05:09:41 PM

It does feel a bit ghostly tip-toeing around here... did you not permanently emigrate to BWF, then? I've been on a few other poetry sites but none of them feel right, this place is like a pair of old sneakers. Think I'm going to start posting a new genre of poetry here... void poetry -   :-\  Place seems to have got the spam under control, so why not?