War, poverty, and social difference all originate from emotion, sentiment, and opinion.
If we are all to live in utopia, we would have to eradicate feeling.
War is a combination of opinions resolved through violence.
If not for one man believing that he is right and another opposing him, war would not be a means of resolution.
But because one man must be right, and because it is our birthright to pursue what we believe in, war is inevitable.
One must always be on top.
Two is too much, none is chaos.
But One is destruction.
And this is what we fight for.
Man is only a detriment to himself because of what he feels.
And if this feeling can be let go or controlled, we may supposedly have peace.
But man was made to feel.
So to take away feeling, you have taken away man.
And so man no longer exists, thereby counteracting the purpose of obstructing emotion.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Satire Truth of Life On Earth
I was rummaging through some old paperwork I've accumulated over the years and i pulled out a short story that i wrote for a creative writing class in 9th grade. It's simple, to the point, and doesn't leave much to be assumed. I've altered nothing (although there are a few points that could use a good tweak!). I wrote this without bias. And that's why i found it so interesting. I wrote this before I read 1984 and before I'd watched any films portraying dystopia. My only knowledge was of current society and Hitler's reign in Germany. But of course, this is the logic that originates all great artists' dystopia - current society and history. The entire story doesn't follow, but, it's enough to get the point across.
Governor Rogers sat at his desk, overwhelmed with deliberation as Councilman Peters, the elder of the men, waited impatiently for a response.
“Of course,” Rogers began, “there will be protests, unless we disguise the implant as a permanent inoculation for some sort of virus or disease. We have to trick them in some way I’d suppose, unless you have another idea. This isn’t a matter we can bring about openly.”
“We can’t have citizens thinking for themselves, though. That’s how wars begin, how murders occur, how protests take place! When people have the right to free speech our whole country will end up in yet another civil war!” Peter’s challenged in a fuming tone.
“I understand your concern councilman, and I agree with your proposal. But there are faults in your plot. Citizens aren’t going to understand and accept that their minds will be controlled; they’ll debate it, and they obviously like the already established law of free will and free speech. Take note that it is what gives our country its significance.”
“Indeed,” Peters responded smartly, “that and our increasing obesity rates and decreasing IQ rankings. But if everyone were to process information in the same way, think the same way, obesity and intelligence, war and hatred would be a thing of the past, and thus citizens would maintain richer, healthier lives.” He coughed and sat calmly as a thought took place in his mind.
“I have watched this country at its hardest Rogers; my entire family died in the first war, even my baby sister Julie, all because of our difference of opinion! And I am not about to let the same happen to other families!”
Rogers removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes and combed through his hair roughly. He replaced the glasses on his face and spoke, sounding genuinely understanding.
“The idea of implanting this ‘chip’ into every citizens brain seems simply improbable and inhumane –
“ Ahhhh, but it obliterates the need for any form of a justice system which, because of the right to free speech, is also imperfect!” Peters slammed his fist on the desk “that’s how you think of it Rogers! Not as inhumane, but as an innovation of the country, to transform this imperfect blood-thirsty nation into a perfect paradise.”
“Yes, but how do we convince the people to undergo this surgery and have it complete in sufficient time?”
“We create a law, put our armed forces on the streets to execute anyone who dares disobey law!”
“And what happens if these armed forces disagree with the law?”
“They too must be executed.”
“But isn’t that just what you are trying to prevent? Death?”
“I want a lot more than you could possibly imagine Rogers.” He forced a cold smile, stood, tipped his hat to Rogers and left the room.
Rogers swiveled from the door and lay his head in his palm. He removed his glasses, placed them on the desk, rubbed his eyes combed his fingers through his hair, roughly, and reclined in his chair. He grinned pensively, deep in thought.
He shook the last bit of apprehension from his body, prepared himself for the greeting he’d get once he’d return home, and went on his way.
He was a scrawny boy with angular features in the right places. He looked like a prince from a fairytale.
It was late when his mother met him at the front of the cabin with a sheer look of disappointment and scold, a brazen rage obviously running through her veins. Dorian began to speak but his mother stopped him.
“You know very well what will happen if you’re caught, Dorian! You need to honor my words; you know the government is after us! Do you want to end up like your father?” she yelled tiredly.
Dorian’s father had been murdered, or executed, as they would call it, by the army men for not being submissive to the newly appointed law.
Dorian spoke calmly, “I just don’t wanna be cooped up in this house all day; it gets boring.”
“Right now you need to cope with it, your sister seems quite content under the circumstances.”
“She’s three mom!” Dorian’s sister, Lacy, sat on the floor cutely dismantling a lovely building she had built with toy blocks. “She doesn’t even understand what’s going on! I know what I’m doing; I know how to avoid them! Their like machines.”
“That’s besides the point! You have to be careful, you’re putting this family in grave danger.” Dorian rolled his eyes and started to his room.
In a louder, more abrasive voice, his mother yelled, “And if this ever happens again you’ll be locked in your room for the week!”
The Satire Truth of Life on Earth
November 1972-The Country of Faltron
Governor Rogers sat at his desk, overwhelmed with deliberation as Councilman Peters, the elder of the men, waited impatiently for a response.
“Of course,” Rogers began, “there will be protests, unless we disguise the implant as a permanent inoculation for some sort of virus or disease. We have to trick them in some way I’d suppose, unless you have another idea. This isn’t a matter we can bring about openly.”
“We can’t have citizens thinking for themselves, though. That’s how wars begin, how murders occur, how protests take place! When people have the right to free speech our whole country will end up in yet another civil war!” Peter’s challenged in a fuming tone.
“I understand your concern councilman, and I agree with your proposal. But there are faults in your plot. Citizens aren’t going to understand and accept that their minds will be controlled; they’ll debate it, and they obviously like the already established law of free will and free speech. Take note that it is what gives our country its significance.”
“Indeed,” Peters responded smartly, “that and our increasing obesity rates and decreasing IQ rankings. But if everyone were to process information in the same way, think the same way, obesity and intelligence, war and hatred would be a thing of the past, and thus citizens would maintain richer, healthier lives.” He coughed and sat calmly as a thought took place in his mind.
“I have watched this country at its hardest Rogers; my entire family died in the first war, even my baby sister Julie, all because of our difference of opinion! And I am not about to let the same happen to other families!”
Rogers removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes and combed through his hair roughly. He replaced the glasses on his face and spoke, sounding genuinely understanding.
“The idea of implanting this ‘chip’ into every citizens brain seems simply improbable and inhumane –
“ Ahhhh, but it obliterates the need for any form of a justice system which, because of the right to free speech, is also imperfect!” Peters slammed his fist on the desk “that’s how you think of it Rogers! Not as inhumane, but as an innovation of the country, to transform this imperfect blood-thirsty nation into a perfect paradise.”
“Yes, but how do we convince the people to undergo this surgery and have it complete in sufficient time?”
“We create a law, put our armed forces on the streets to execute anyone who dares disobey law!”
“And what happens if these armed forces disagree with the law?”
“They too must be executed.”
“But isn’t that just what you are trying to prevent? Death?”
“I want a lot more than you could possibly imagine Rogers.” He forced a cold smile, stood, tipped his hat to Rogers and left the room.
Rogers swiveled from the door and lay his head in his palm. He removed his glasses, placed them on the desk, rubbed his eyes combed his fingers through his hair, roughly, and reclined in his chair. He grinned pensively, deep in thought.
1
Dorian Alcaraz leapt from the balcony, knowing only too well what would have happened had he been seen. Mother had told him before that they were fugitives in this country and should not be out running wildly like vagabonds. He should ‘only leave the house to buy groceries and clothing’, and even then he had to keep himself discreet.
He shook the last bit of apprehension from his body, prepared himself for the greeting he’d get once he’d return home, and went on his way.
He was a scrawny boy with angular features in the right places. He looked like a prince from a fairytale.
It was late when his mother met him at the front of the cabin with a sheer look of disappointment and scold, a brazen rage obviously running through her veins. Dorian began to speak but his mother stopped him.
“You know very well what will happen if you’re caught, Dorian! You need to honor my words; you know the government is after us! Do you want to end up like your father?” she yelled tiredly.
Dorian’s father had been murdered, or executed, as they would call it, by the army men for not being submissive to the newly appointed law.
Dorian spoke calmly, “I just don’t wanna be cooped up in this house all day; it gets boring.”
“Right now you need to cope with it, your sister seems quite content under the circumstances.”
“She’s three mom!” Dorian’s sister, Lacy, sat on the floor cutely dismantling a lovely building she had built with toy blocks. “She doesn’t even understand what’s going on! I know what I’m doing; I know how to avoid them! Their like machines.”
“That’s besides the point! You have to be careful, you’re putting this family in grave danger.” Dorian rolled his eyes and started to his room.
In a louder, more abrasive voice, his mother yelled, “And if this ever happens again you’ll be locked in your room for the week!”
...and it goes on from here but it's a bit much for one blog
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Cool Down
Considering the condition of the times, it's occurred to me that it might get a bit hot in here. By "here," I mean earth. And by "hot," I mean "hot-tempered." What with the economy in the midst of his grave, and government corruption admitting an almost direct likeness to the precedents set by Grant's presidency, it's not uncanny the means of negative ventilation that people might turn to.
And so this blog is dedicated to the idea that, perhaps we can all just cool down before something regretful happens.
And so this blog is dedicated to the idea that, perhaps we can all just cool down before something regretful happens.
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