The Power of Illusion

The Madness of Civilization Is In Your Pocket

When a government is dependent on bankers for money,

they and not the leaders of the government control the situation,

since the hands that gives is above the hand that takes…Money has

no mother land; financiers are without patriotism and without decency; their sole object is gain.

~ Napoleon Bonaparte

 

Money. We’re here solely to churn the fake money. Of course it all means nothing in this modern economy, just numbers on a screen, but oh the power of numbers! These are the hours you’ll spend toiling away, time forever lost and never enough numbers on your side of the screen, not when the commas and zeroes are reserved for those who hold the keys to the vaults. The banks own you. They own your house, your car, your future, your government, your country, your world. Banks are the temples of modernity. One must worship on their steps if one wishes to receive any blessings, for these brick and mortar edifices hold more power than ever did the greatest of kingdoms or the Holy See.

 

I walked past one of these citadels just last week and stopped to look at the stark architecture. A homeless man approached me and said, “Stay away from that place.  It’s not what you think.”  Curious, I asked him to tell me what it meant to him.  His reply, below, was more insightful than I expected:

 

“I’ll tell you what that building means. It’s about this ~ this civilization, or whatever you wanna call it. Y’all is crazy. You spend all day, day after day, going from one damn box to another. You wake up in a big box called home. That box costs you most of the money you make when you go to the box called work. You spend all day there and ain’t got no time to spend in the house box you’re paying so much for.  And how’d you get back and forth? You pay for another little box, this one on wheels that you gotta pay to replace cause you wear ’em out all the damn time running between boxes. Then you gotta pay more money just to make it move. Then you gotta pay even more money for permission to drive it on roads that you already done paid for before you even get your damn check. What the hell is wrong with y’all? You know where that money comes from, don’t you? Nowhere. They done made it up outta air but you gotta trade in your life for it. Yeah, pretty girl, I call y’all crazy. And you call me crazy cause I don’t want nothing to do with it. Now ain’t humanity a joke?”

 

My simple reply was, “Yes, sir, it is. Thank you for reminding me.”   He’s right, of course.  Inside that imposing granite edifice are the pens, papers, and screens that make money out of absolutely nothing, and yet we kill for it.  Stark, raving madness indeed.

 

 

Rachel Summers
Known as the Dropout Philosopher, Rachel Summers walked away from the Ivory Tower, spent a year in a motorcycle mechanics program, and started research for her first novel, CondAmnation, in a local Harley Davidson shop. Her novels are what some have called a journey into antinomian mysteriosophy, where socially sanctioned morality is turned on its head in order to shake out just a few drops of enlightenment.

Summers holds degrees in History, Comparative Religions, English Literature, and Philosophy but ran afoul of academia when her dissertation proposal was rejected as something that might cause a scandal or, worse yet, cause the check-signing alumni to sign fewer checks. Welcomed to stay and write if she accepted a pre-approved project, she chose to leave and vowed to cause a scandal indeed, whether with pen or sword. She is currently writing her fourth novel as well as articles for the Revolutionary Conservative; thus far, the sword remains sheathed.
https://www.amazon.com/Rachel-Summers/e/B06X3XJ5RN/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1501880347&sr=8-1-spell