...
That I'm just colorful and given to hyperbole and loony concepts, but you don't seem to grok that your life really does depend on this stuff, that the fuckers who could starve millions of Russians are the guys running your health care, dictating what you are allowed to think about science medicine history geopolitics... just dictating what you can think. Period. And you do, even when you don't... when you think you don't.
I have a couple... no... actually a few silent types who I nonetheless know visit here every day. They are in really terrible shape. They are not paying attention. They are, in fact, dully taking it in without ever putting it together that I am linking them to stuff that bears on their very own lives. They are literate. They are aware of current events. They have opinions about shit and splat them wherever someone will let them do it. I've actually exhausted myself trying to get them to do what it takes to get better, but it doesn't register.
It. Doesn't. Register.
These fellows may already be dead, or just too sick again, still crawling to the pharmacy to get the neurotoxins the TV says will save them. We all know you will take a pill if it means you don't have to move your butt or deprive yourself of goodies, and add the fact that sleeping powder is falling all around you, you are just slipping into a weirdly agreeable sense of approaching serenity, aren't you? You are. You're already taking most things much less seriously than ever before. It's a relief, isn't it? It is.
That's your motherfucking IQ draining into the void, you moron... right along with your chi.
We just heard Judy Wood telling John B — those of us who give a shit — 9/11 was an attack on consciousness. Consciousness itself. And it hasn't stopped. You're not in your right mind. It's hard work to pull out of the induced stupor. You have to fight to have a life. You. Have. To. Fight. Or. Die. I'm not kidding. I'm not just being colorful. I'm not just trying to think up ways to attract attention. I'm telling you. You're flat on your face on the yellow bricks that were taking you to Oz. The poppies have nailed you.
I don't care how unfair it is to demand it.
Snap out of it.
