Saturday, 4 April 2009

La Puissance C'est Tout

As our civilisation collapses, with the inevitability of a 2+ solar mass star-type into its 1974 degeneracy limit, so we have idiot-savants queuing up to display their ability to take us fools into the abyss. Of course, they've been doing it for a while now but as they look more and more likely to lose their jobs in the reactive and productive recession, like a high mass giant puffing off its useless and pointless additional mass: they see their livelihoods dying and are trying to hold on for dear life - or in our case, dear death.

For, dear reader, let us not stint in our critique of leaders, managers and those "with responsibility". Let us not be fooled by the biting, savage crocodile tears, when their awesome burdens cause them to fire everyone else for their own errors: let us not be tricked by their aura of sadness, when it is their desire, fundamentally to tell other people to follow their own ideas that is to blame. These parasites, these viruses, which feed off the ability of others to work, the fundamental goodness and trustfulness of others; they slime their way into the consciousness and infect a healthy mind with their own neuroses. Do this, do that, believe me, follow me, I am right, you are fired. I felt nothing until I got the pleasure of giving orders. This is why in my private life I keep dogs. They live and they obey. They obey.

Let us not pretend we need these people: they led the C20 into unmitigated, unprecedented disaster. Let us, instead, cast them off, humiliate them, refuse - if necessary lose our jobs - let us stand up and say "fuck off": let us go, and walk away, and find some other poor pathetic animal to make them feel better.

Let us believe nothing of their credentials. This week, those with credentials killed four people for no reason. Those with credentials, entirely made up bits of paper which say nothing about life at all, kill and maim through their own selfishness. I talk not of real people like doctors, but of made up professionals, whose vocation has existed since the dawn of time and has worked roughly the same since then.

Someone waves their paper at you - wipe your arse with it. It doesn't matter how long it took them to earn it, or how much wasted energy it took. Wipe your fetid, sweaty arse on it. And smell your finger.

Why are we a nation of managerial parasites? Why do we all aim for it? Why do we, apart from paying the bills, because there are thousands of ways of doing this, want it? Why do we want to tell other people what to do for a living?

Really, why?



ps 1974 degeneracy pressure reached at the point where inflation exceeds growth by n%, where n= productivity over debt.

4 comments:

Matt M said...

Cheer up. It's sunny.

The Tin Drummer said...

have you given up on the blogging again? See my comment in an earlier post of mine where I extol your virtues as a writer.

Sweet Cheeks said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Matt M said...

If I ever give it another go, you'll be the first to hear about it.