Anarchopaths? - (Part 1)
I think that's a great word for them.
"Imagine, " the song. What does it mean to you?
It once meant sooo much to me. How wonderful it would be if there was no need for countries, with everybody living in harmony, drinking Pepsi and de-licing each others' fur. Winning the lottery and always giving the money to now-pan-handling billionaires. Spending their lives going to college classes in great auditoriums where desks double as little couch beds with little kitchen stands and toilets and herb gardens right there on either sides. Everybody high on extra-nutritious mushrooms. And wild animal life specials substituting for actual war. And everybody bets on their favourite animal, who, if he wins, gets sent to the moon to live a life on cheese or other luxuries. And fart-ass, ear-piercing teachers don't just go to hell, as commanded, but you actually see them disappear and, via video screen, walk into hell, where they take tests for the rest of eternity. And everyone gets an apple a day. And global warming only exists in the good old summer time, where everyone is young and in shape and exchanging sex IOUs, and sex stocks, and sex bonds. And every day is Christmas, but it is now call John Lennon Day.
But someone started calling it Vladimir Lenin Day.
And narcissists rushed in, overthrowing all the tables.
And corporations started buying and selling away all the grains of sand, and, and, and...
And then I woke up, and the world was filled with zombies, eating a black woman, having their tongues removed by aliens. Living like the fat assholes in space, as in Wall-e. And the dollar was backed by entropy. And countries were at war over how many ducks were within their borders at any given time. And everybody got a vaccine which made them all sing a nursery rhyme and then die from eat-face disease. And companies used forests as smokestacks. And bugs had had enough so they devolved into one-celled organisms and caught the next outgoing meteor to Mars. That was the day the song, "Imagine," died, for me. And John Lennon died in a big fur coat for my sins.
"Imagine, " the song. What does it mean to you?
It once meant sooo much to me. How wonderful it would be if there was no need for countries, with everybody living in harmony, drinking Pepsi and de-licing each others' fur. Winning the lottery and always giving the money to now-pan-handling billionaires. Spending their lives going to college classes in great auditoriums where desks double as little couch beds with little kitchen stands and toilets and herb gardens right there on either sides. Everybody high on extra-nutritious mushrooms. And wild animal life specials substituting for actual war. And everybody bets on their favourite animal, who, if he wins, gets sent to the moon to live a life on cheese or other luxuries. And fart-ass, ear-piercing teachers don't just go to hell, as commanded, but you actually see them disappear and, via video screen, walk into hell, where they take tests for the rest of eternity. And everyone gets an apple a day. And global warming only exists in the good old summer time, where everyone is young and in shape and exchanging sex IOUs, and sex stocks, and sex bonds. And every day is Christmas, but it is now call John Lennon Day.
But someone started calling it Vladimir Lenin Day.
And narcissists rushed in, overthrowing all the tables.
And corporations started buying and selling away all the grains of sand, and, and, and...
And then I woke up, and the world was filled with zombies, eating a black woman, having their tongues removed by aliens. Living like the fat assholes in space, as in Wall-e. And the dollar was backed by entropy. And countries were at war over how many ducks were within their borders at any given time. And everybody got a vaccine which made them all sing a nursery rhyme and then die from eat-face disease. And companies used forests as smokestacks. And bugs had had enough so they devolved into one-celled organisms and caught the next outgoing meteor to Mars. That was the day the song, "Imagine," died, for me. And John Lennon died in a big fur coat for my sins.