Ferma animalelor ferme

Daca ar fi sa lucrezi la o enciclopedie in care sa faci o ierarhie a valorii fiecarei forme de viata de pe Pamant te-ai confrunta cu cateva riscuri majore : ai parea nazist, n-ai avea reflexe destule sa te feresti de "pietrele" oamenilor de bun simt (sau mai degraba simt comun, pentru cine face diferenta) si daca ti-ar publica cineva enciclopedia, oprobiul public v-ar fixa trupurile pe o tabla de dartz; si tie si editurii. O mare parte a comunitatii indignate, ar fi invitata sa va bata ritmuri cu creioane peste testicule.
Prin urmare, de dragul cititorului modern ce nu are rabdare, aceasta nu va fi o enciclopedie, ci o insinuare trebnica si mernica.

In imensa ograda a naturii, am inceput toti unicelulari, iar unii au ramas de miliarde de ani unicelulari.
Formele de viata care s-au dezvoltat, au facut-o cu speranta de-a manca mai mult si mai eficient.
In acest sens si-au dezvoltat abilitati proprii, fie de-a mesteca iarba, fie alte animale.
Mai tarziu, cea mai talentata dintre specii a inventat modalitati de-a domina restul speciilor.
Dupa ce au reusit sa-si domine toate fiintele din mediul inconjurator, nu mai era altceva de facut decat a-i supune pe cei din propria specie.
Uneltele de control au fost si sunt, forta bruta, armele si frica.
In cazul speciei umane, frica si lipsa de scop puternic, tine locul grajdului/cotetzului, precum un perimetru invizibil pe care cei mai puternici au devenit de-a lungul timpului tot mai talentati in a-l trasa.

Pentru cei cu adevarat puternici, toti restul sunt niste animale de sacrificiu, fie ca sunt pui crescuti in juma de metru patrat, fie in garsoniera. Si poate ca acei carora le sunt (s)mulse resursele si sunt obligati sa se consume intr-un spatiu sufocant, au o justificare nemaipomenita de-a dezvolta subliminal o empatie fata de formele de viata din grajduri si coteturi, carora viata le este curmata pentru a satisface lacomia fermierilor.

Agents

The Agents

The darkness spread all around the cylinder walls, making it impossible for Dox to distinguish any of the others. As the light grew dimmer, so did their voices, which would have sounded as mysterious as the whispers of a magic spell, if he had not known what they were discussing.  It was obvious that they were addressing the same issues as they had been addressing ever since they had all voluntarily entered the cylinder. The fact that they all agreed on the matter, made Dox wonder if his decision to join them had been a bit too rash. After all, he could have still been on the outside, judging if the cause was truly justified and worthy of his huge sacrifice. On the outside, he could have listened to some arguments, to some pros and cons, whereas, here, everybody had their minds already made up and no one had any arguments or seemed to be in pursuit of the truth. Indeed, here, on the inside, the only thing that ever changed was the intensity of hatred expressed against their common enemy: The Blue. One could claim temporary attention of the entire group if one’s hysteric outburst of hatred would impose silence and dominate the rest by its thundering of the voice and paroxysm of the emotions. The general state of awe, would last just under a minute, as it was always replaced by simultaneous shouts of group members who were aiming for the same kind of attention as their colleague had just had.

How could he doubt the color of his mind, inside such a clearly defined mechanism, which seemed to function “sui generis” and even had the power to propagate these credos in waves reaching far beyond the cylinder? While more and more agents were storming in, to join the green cylinder, would he alone be allowed his exit? What if his doubts will prove to be fundamentally flawed and he will not be allowed to enter ever again, losing all status he had acquired in all this time? This train of thoughts was interrupted by the whisper of his neighbor, Poroo, who addressed him in a snakelike fashion:

“They’re all whispering about a traitor among us and I am sure I know who it is. YOU ARE THE TRAITOR, DOX!” When uttering the last words, Poroo’s voice raised to such a high pitch that it got everyone’s attention. All the lights came on. He continued then, aware of his spotlight:

“Brothers of the Just Cause, we have all been given the blessed opportunity to join the GOOD as soldiers of the Green Cylinder.” The unison voice of the crowd followed: “Hurray, hurray, hurray!” With a raise of the left hand, he silenced them and continued:

“As some of you know, I, Poroo, have been entrusted by the members of the High Sphere with the noble duty of watching for possible spies and weak agents who might turn Blue in our midst. You all know how dangerous that is!” Then they all shouted: “Death to Blue, Death to Blue!” The shouts were followed by humming voices of agents pointing in anger at Dox.

“But brothers” he then went on “for killing Dox, we need clear evidence that he is blue. It is only up to the Supreme Green to sentence him”

At this point, Dox shouted in a thundering voice:

“You are all idiots! What kind of speeches are these? Those of a traitor indeed! It is not only Poroo who’s been entrusted by the High Sphere with checking on the others. We all have this duty! If not officially, then morally! Do you remember Poroo addressing any important issues recently? Did he come up with strategies on how to perfect the serum? Did you hear him shout anything except ?” There was silence and then whispered dialogues among some of the agents who remembered that Poroo had previously accused two more agents of high treason and they had been judged and executed by the Supreme Green.

Dox then continued: “Why would he get rid of agents? Is it maybe time to ask yourselves who is going to be next?

Poroo was astonished by the roles switch and needed a little time to retort. He then rushed into shouting:

“Brothers, in the last couple of days, Dox here, has never raised his eyes from the ground when we were debating the Blue threat, he never really cheered for the Just Cause, he’s got this sad countenance…one could say he’s got “the Blues”.

Dox violently interrupted him: “Ridiculous!! If agent Poroo turns on us so easily in time of peace, imagine if a war broke out! I have nothing against a trial, but let Pooro join me and debate his own loyalty for the Green and treason for his fellow agents. My loyalty has been proven for the 48 days I’ve been here. He only joined a week ago and the Blue seem to have more and more information on us ever since! Does it not seem just a little odd?”

 At this point, everybody started screaming from the top of their lungs “Trial, trial, trial, trial” until Arook, a female agent burst into the dominating shout:

“We need 120 agents to make the serum! We are 101! If the Blue inject themselves first, the Organism will not give us another chance for the next eight generations! You idiots, improve the propaganda, don’t kill each other!”

They knew they were racing against time and according to the last information they had received from their spies, the Blues had already reached 103 agents and were assiduously working on developing their PR strategy to attract new agents. Thus, they all agreed not to denounce each other for anything and try to focus on increasing their numbers.

Dox was taught that joining one side or the other at the Right Age, was the most important thing in the whole world and that being part of the serum injected into the Organism is the greatest achievement anyone could ever dream of. But just before joining the Greens, he had met a retired member of the High Sphere. He told him that the Blue and the Green were equally useful and justified and that the judgments of the Supreme Green and those of the Supreme Blue were equally righteous. Dox thought it was a test of his loyalty to the Green and he praised the doctrines of the Green to the member of the High Sphere, who seemed to be very amused by his determination and unshakeable faith. It was not until recently that Dox remembered this ex member of the High Sphere, at the time when he was trying to understand what the Blues were plotting. He imagined them having the same race against time, the same frustration and debates and he even saw the Blue version of himself there, surrounded by 102 agents with wrung up keys.  

Manifestivity

O figura devenita publica datorita efervescentei cu care milita online pentru cauze de interes national online, postase o poza pe FB, comentand “Cat timp vom ramane indiferenti, in cochilia noastra virtuala, privindu-ne semenii cum sunt umiliti de monstrii de la putere, ne condamnam copiii la si mai mari oribilitati.Individul va fi mereu invins, avem nevoie de tine pentru ca lupta noastra sa aiba o sansa! Haide Vineri, la 7 seara, sa ne redobandim demnitatea in fata Palatului!”
Cele 273 de comentarii ce urmasera in mai putin de o ora, il facura pe M., care vazuse intamplator “thread-ul” sa comenteze si el ceva cu referire la viziunea lui Orwell asupra situatiei curente, dar urmatoarele patru persoane ce comentara, il atacara cu invective ce primira zeci de like-uri .Citise de curand un studiu legat de dezumanizarea individului atunci cand face parte dintr-un grup care are un dusman comun si-si imagina ca daca ar fi fost cu adevarat in mijlocul comentatorilor inversunati, ar fi fost luat la suturi fara mila. Aceste ganduri, avura puterea de-a-l descuraja pe M. in a-si continua firul logicii si de-a mai interveni pe respectiva postare.
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Manifestatia incepuse ca oricare alta: cam 10 indivizi, dispersati in puncte strategice ale grupului, incepura sa scandeze lozinci anti-guvernamentale, anti-stat, impotriva anumitor figuri politice, numindu-si lista de persoane non grata si “soptind-o” si restului grupului care avea mare nevoie de unele date, nefiind atat de bine informat. M. era si el acolo, privind cum grupul de oameni se extinde in palcuri tot mai mari, pregatindu-si cocktailuri Molotov, pe fundalul unor scandari care erau tot mai rasunatoare:
“Luptati, luptati, nu va intimidati”, “Tu de-aici nu ne mai misti,nici cu mii de politisti”, “Nu mai ai al meu mandat, pleaca-acum de la palat” sau“Presedinte fa cu mana, nu mai suportam minciuna”

Televiziunile incepura sa apara la fata locului si sa transmita evenimentul in direct, focusand mereu camerele pe cei mai inversunati dintre manifestanti, lucru care ii facu sa se alature pe tot mai multi curiosi care isi detestau conditia si monotonia casnica. Urletele si defularile celor prezenti se propagau direct proportional cu marirea grupului de protestatari.
“Uneori, oamenii devin atat de inversunati, incat tre sa le dai in cap ca sa te asculte vorbindu-le despre beneficiile non-violentei” gandi in sinea lui M.
Cand manifestatia capata amploare, insusi personajul care starnise spiritele, aparu cu o portavoce repetand unele dintre lozincile strigate anterior, plimbandu-se prin multime si si facandu-i pe toti sa le creada cu si mai multa tarie. Mai tarziu, cineva ii instalase un podium si un stand de microfon, iar boxele aparura, purtate in brate de cate doi oameni fiecare. Discurusl incepu:

"Dragi compatrioti, Cat timp vor sa ne mai insulte inteligenta? Suntem presul unei clasei politice care-si plimba pantofii prin mocirla? Stramosii nostri au aparat acest pamant, au murit cu incredere si liniste in suflet, crezand cu tarie ca mor aparandu-ne noua pamantul. Ei au crezut ca acest pamant e mostenirea lor pentru o noua generatie de patrioti care va lupta si-si va invata si copiii sa lupte pentru ce le apartine, pentru ceea ce le e drept! Au gresit?" Facu o pauza de doua secunde, dupa care repeta cu o voce tunatoare: "AU GRESIT? "
In acel moment uralele si aplauzele impanzira intreaga manifestatie fara prea mult ajutor din partea instigatorilor.

Pana la urma era o poza surprinsa in timp ce o femeie era bruscata de jandarmii care incercau s-o bage in duba. Intreaga poveste era ca impreuna cu alti protestatari, femeia primise rolul de-a provoca si insulta pana la limita fortele politienesti din zona in care era amplasata marea parte a presei. Dupa ce grupul ei ii scuipase, jignise si aruncase inspre ei cocktailuri molotov cu o furie vecina cu paroxismul, jandarmilor li se dadu ordin sa "linisteasca situatia", iar acestia, respectandu-si ordinele, inaintara sa-i captureze. Cand jandarmii se apropiara, femeia isi lua a doua parte a rolului in primire si incepu sa se zvarcoleasca cu istericale si cu tipete grotesti, trantindu-se la pamant si dand din picioare.

Va urma...

Economiada

“Dragi compatrioti, Interesul national trebuie definit, mai presus de toate, ca Scop National si nu ca un bine imediat. Diferenta e ca pentru a urmari un SCOP, trebuie sa intelegi pasii intr-acolo, iar interesul de moment trebuie sa fie mereu subordonat acestuia. Timp de zeci de ani, toate campaniile politice la care am asistat au avut acelasi text: “dati-ne votul si vom ridica nivelul de trai! “, iar mai apoi acelasi pretext “guvernarea anterioara ne-a lasat o situatie dezastruoasa, pe care n-aveam cum s-o anticipam. Mai avem nevoie de un mandat!” Oamenii injura in barba, sunt indignati ca nici acum n-au crescut pensiile, ca nici acum nu s-au creat locuri de munca sau ca “si astia fura”, dar pleaca acasa palcuri-palcuri, cu capul plecat.

Ei bine, dragi conationali, aceste tertipuri ar trebui sa ne jigneasca profund. Se adreseaza unui popor care-si vede in clasa politica un fel de salvare si nu un exponent si avocat al scopului national. Asta pentru ca nimeni nu mai vorbeste de un interes national de termen lung. Oamenii nu stiu incotro se indreapta, iar stomacul plin si accesul la ultima tehnologie domina nazuintele celor care inca mai merg la vot, precum in cazul unor asini ce-si urmaresc morcovul balanganindu-li-se in fata ochilor.

Pe restul, au stiut sa va indeparteze sistematic, coborand stacheta show-ului politic atat de jos, incat a-i urmari si a incerca sa ii intelegeti, echivaleaza cu o ofensa impotriva bunului gust. V-au biruit, v-au CASTIGAT INDIFERENTA, v-au izolat in meandrele abstractului, unde va holbati prin luneta la problemele globale in timp ce lipitorile va urca incet-incet piciorul.

S-a creat astfel o clasa sociala imateriala, blurata, condamnata la tacere de propria-i delicatete, translucida si dezorganizata, ce de-abia isi mai aude gandurile. Eforturile intelectuale ii sunt acoperite de badaraniile indelung exersate, de nerusinari si grosolanii tot mai usor acceptate, de vociferarile interesului gregar, trambitate de personaje grotesti, care au aparut in prima faza ca material de amuzament, dar mai apoi saltimbancii si-au speculat audienta si au devenit autoritari. Nimic nu e mai macabru decat un clown care incepe sa vorbeasca serios, adresandu-se unei natiuni amuzate si distrase. Caracterul unui om este definit de lucrurile pe care le considera demne de amuzament… Mie nu-mi vine a rade, pentru ca acesti mascarici sunt vinovati nici mai mult nici mai putin decat de infanticid! Vreau sa fiu bine inteles: nu ma refer la infanticidul biblic, sau la pruncii ucisi de cavalerii cruciadelor, trimisi acolo de papa pentru a “promova” crestinismul. Ma refer la un infanticid pe care avocatul poporului nu-l va trimite niciodata intr-o sala de judecata, dar care este un genocid real si condamnabil in contabilitatea de peste 50 de ani a poporului (inca mi-e greu sa spun roman). Prea multor dintre oamenii care poarta torta civilizatiei si moralitatii le este sufocat instictul de perpetuare a propriei specii… Aceia care ar trebui sa duca mai departe valorile superioare ale umanitatii sunt condamnati de cavalerii economiadei la nesiguranta materiala, la neincrederea intr-un viitor demn al natiunii si chiar al omenirii, indoindu-se de valoarea educatiei pe care ar putea sa le-o dea urmasilor pentru a face fata unui tip de competitivitate eminamente mercantil. Capacitatea de-a intelege asta trebuie dublata de o anumita reactie, sau va va transforma indignarea intr-o hemorargia interna, de neoperat, ce va spori progresiv inconstienta si va duce la moarte.

Cu riscul de-a ma face prea bine ineles, vreau sa apelez la o alegorie:

Cu mult timp in urma, o barca a fost luata de ape in josul raului, curgand inspre o cascada uriasa. Cei din barca, au fost nascuti acolo si nu au manifestat prea mult interes in a sti dincotro vin si incotro se indreapta. Sunt obisnuiti sa curga… Isi aleg cate un capitan la fiecare suta de metri care, respectand mereu directia de mers, le promite ca in alunecarea inspre frumoasa si letala cascada, le va manevra barca in asa fel incat sa poata sa culeaga pietricele colorate de pe marginea raului, promisiune la care mai toti oamenii din barca aplauda fericiti, gandindu-se la abundenta si la zestrea pe care o vor lasa urmasilor. Mai e cate unul care spune: Eu nu vreau pietricele; eu as vrea sa scoatem barca asta din rau si sa mergem la lac, ca sa vaslim in directia pe care o alegem noi. Am citit in cartile stramosilor nostri, despre un lac pe care, daca il trecem vaslind cu totii, vom gasi de cealalta parte a lui, fericire impreuna si pentru fiecare in parte. Cred ca raul asta, dupa cum curge, ne va duce la o prabusire dezastruoasa.” Dar vocea ii este acoperita de cei din barca care, indemnati de capitan, urla cu o frenezie crescanda: ”Pietri-cele, pietri-cele, pietri-cele, pietri-cele!!”, in timp ce se imbrancesc si inghiontesc ca sa acapareze tot mai multe pietricele colorate. Personajul n-are decat sa sara afara din barca si sa inoate inspre prima piatra de rau destul de stabila ca sa-i suporte greutatea. Asezandu-se pe ea, va astepta alte barci, si va spera ca alti iubitori de lac vor sari din ele si isi vor cauta stabilitate pe pietrele lor. Asta pentru ca mai apoi, unindu-si cu totii pietrele de rau, sa faca o punte care ii va duce la mal, unde isi vor construi o arca ce ii va duce de cealalta parte a lacului. Acolo, prietenia si iubirea fata de semeni va face ca orice alta lege sa fie redundanta. Dar, privind in jurul lui, vede peste tot, cocotate pe pietrele de rau, cadavrele schimonosite si scheletele celor care, sarind odata din barca, s-au pierdut in ganduri si in scribalirea acelorasi idei pe pietrele lor, dar nereusind sa puna cap la cap nici macar doua dintre ele. Deznadajduit, personajul isi lasa creta sa-i cada din maini, privind-o cum curge in aval, in aceasi directie in care au curs si cretele celorlalti, acolo unde toate lucrurile curg, manate de fortele neinduplecate ale timpului, uitarii si mortii.
Nu acceptati moartea atat de blazati! Uniti-va pietrele de rau ca sa facem o punte, cititi mai mult si mai ales, dar nu pentru a va izola intelectual, ci pentru a rezona cu si a intelege ideile care pot sa salveze copiii unei sub-specii superioare de la infanticidul rasei mercantile! Da, e un razboi si neutralitatea devine condamnabila! Cand omul a devenit stapanul regnului animal, nu s-a oprit acolo ci a ramas animat mereu de o tensiune ce il va indemna sa isi intelegeaga mediul inconjurator cu singurul scop de-a-l domina.

E o amagire ingrijoratoare aceea a credintei ca daca nu percepem razboiul, vom fi lasati in pace. Nu e un conflict ideatic, cel pe care il avem, ci e un conflict pentru surprematia sub-speciei, iar sub-specia mercantila face din Economiada o arma atat de puternica incat ne va castra si ne va arde pergamentul, cu scopul de-a ne elimina pentru totdeauna. Singura salvare e auto-definirea sub-speciei creatoare si lupta, in prima faza impotriva disparitiei si apoi pentru eliminarea sistematica a relatiilor interumane de natura economica. E timpul ca dominatia sub-speciei mercantile sa fie inlocuita cu acea a umanitatii, e timpul ca omul sa isi implineasca potentialul creator in armonie cu restul naturii si in interesul tuturor, fara a simti ca cineva speculeaza si profita de energia lui vitala, ci din dorinta de-a-si face ecoul sa rasune cu adevarat in eternitate si nu sub forma unor monede din buzunarul fariseilor!

Ain't no sunshine when it's dark

The quantum mechanic government

A modern state should be progressive enough to be well acquainted with the scientific realities of its time and consider the quantum mechanics as a necessary option for the future of law-making and taxation. Thus, a person shall not be taxed or judged according to his/her current socio-economic situation, but according to the highest status which that particular individual might have achieved, after conducting an exhaustive series of possible realities. The purpose of such an enterprise might seem at first as a manifestation state's greed in collecting taxes, but the desired effect is evolution of humanity itself. The question on everyone's minds will be: why not try to be the best we can be, if we already pay for it?

The Recluse vs. the Misanthrope

 Statement of a born anarchist who dreams of greatness in a wasteland

You might say that the plan of a quasi-invisible individual to strangle ideologically the human civilization is just a manifestation of the syndrome which pushed some lunatic to kill a celebrity, because this celebrity made him aware of his own insignificance. But it is more than that. It is a self analyzed, self assumed, self righteous, premeditated act, by which an individual can inflict another type of annihilation to his surroundings, in order to achieve the only possible greatness. The only one which is morally right: Greatness in a wasteland

Fashionably hanging

The recorded human progress is killing me from the inside, from the outside, crushes me from above and drowns me in a flood of enlightened phrases, evrikas’, queds’, equals to, solutions, psychological revelations, scientific breakthroughs’ and there is no promise for my fingerprints to be pressed against anything great and unique, unless they will be remembered by aliens as the fingerprints found around the neck of the corpse of human civilization. My wish is to weave a delicate scarf which the humanity will wear elegantly around its neck, only to discover suddenly that it had always been a dead man’s rope and the pedestal gives way to a free fall. 

In a few generations, humanity must fall! Everything has been occupied, whatever you dream of discovering has already been covered by some scientific paper or another. It has been enveloped by scientists and researchers into the cycle of human civilization where there is no more space for another generation of great humans; just for new generations of test crash dummies.  

There is no place you might want to go which has not been marked as the territory of some howling dog of the past, even philosophy is like an exclusivist toilet where lots of moles are crowding in to reek the farts of Socrates and the ones before him.

“Occupied” is the word which comes to mind obsessively, you realize that there are more humans than ever to share everything with: the space, the resources, the glory, your uniqueness… there is a cut throat competition for earning the right to become a human among this throng of test crash dummies!

Dilution

In order for the human to survive, humanity must fall! Is it not obvious that we dilute our soul(s)? Do we not understand too much and live to little? Do we not find other life forms to protect and at the same time curse our fellow humans? And why is that? Is it not a death wish, a result of a subtle, subconscious desire to help humanity commit suicide? Is it not because we are fed up with ourselves and we despise our own baseness as seen in the others? We recognize the mirrored reflection of ourselves in others only because we do not apply the filter of poetic or philosophic justification to them. How else could we see it?  Psychology rendered everything noble to selfishness, to thirst for power and a means of dominating your own environment. Is it then still possible, for an educated, free thinking individual, to go out on the streets and shout his lungs out for a noble cause??

God has already won

Nietzsche said that God is dead; he was wrong, God has never been more alive, happy and powerful! He is still alone on his lofty mountain peak, breathing in the fresh air of uniqueness, with ever recurring joy, oblivious to our struggle to breathe through the thick, foul smelling crowds. He is even unaware of the ones who are aware of him and I suspect that he is closer to complete ignorance that to being all knowing.