A Letter From a Billionaire

 Dear The People,

 It is one of our ages modern tragedies, the desperation of individuals to belong to the wage-slave force, it sickens me. It really does sicken me, to see one of you begging for a job, begging for corporate enslavement, begging to be on my team. Should not your desperation be for revolution instead of petty opportunities?
Should not your energy be focused on revolting against my billionaire friends and I? Should not your soul be dedicated towards resistance instead of trying to deliberately encage yourself in the corporate bondage chambers?

 You are sick! You, wage slave, are the sick one, not I, you are the sick one because you have become so blinded that you do not see your path. You have become so slavish and so desperate for employment that you have forgotten the true merits of your humanity.  You have become so blinded by your materialistic needs, that a job is your salvation, a job , of course, in my sadistic corporation.

Stand up men! Stand up women! Resist your oppression, of course you never will, you will sit at home waiting for your favorite show to arrive. You are a sick, passive, creature and for that you deserve to be dominated by me and eventually my children. Nothing bothers you, nothing infuriates you, you just sit there and wait like a dog for your pay check and your imaginary promotion. We often laugh at the golf club about people who believe in promotions, the joke is this, what do you call a promoted wage slave? A wage slave!
Sometimes I get bored, I really do, because you present no threat, because you are so fucking docile and stupid. When I was young my father spoke to me of class struggle, and I looked forward to it, to crushing the poor, but instead nothing happens. Nothing happens at all, I just sit there in my office raking in billions from your sweat and labor while you go on imagining that you’re free.
It is simple, wage slave, really simple, the formula is this: half your day is spent slaving, the other half in front of the television imagining you are free.

 I love you, wage slave, I really do, because without you, I could not sustain such a lavish, albeit, meaningless lifestyle.

 A Billionaire

reposted from

http://theactivists.wordpress.com

If that's what it takes...

Season's end...

...wars and rebellions, depression and recession, economic and cultural breakdown, instability, fear, lost of hope and faith. Is this all we got from last year? For some of us maybe yes.

But I can still hear the voices of you, fighters. I can still feel the heart of you, lovers. I can still breathe the hope of you, dreamers. I can still sense the prayers of you, faithful. And the solidarity, and the help, and the sympathy, of you brothers and sisters. And I am still in love. With you and everything that we can achieve together. But mostly with our Destination.

Things will change, again and again. Whatever we gain will be lost as history shows us. The road to happiness is in front of us though, paved with love and humility. It is longer that you would expect but it worths the effort.

We are not anonymous. We do not forget but we do forgive. Smile and keep on straight through the fog. If that's what it takes, that's what we'll do.

Merry Christmas to you all and a bright new year! 

C.K.
Photo by National Geographic

Peaceful Warrior

"None are more hopelessly enslaved that those who falsely believe they are free"

-Goethe-

All we know things are bad, even worse than that! I don't have to tell you things are bad. They're crazy. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. The euro and the dollar are hyper-inflated, stones have more value than them, banks and financial  are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Occupy movements are running wild in the street and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it. Besides of this, we know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and in the meantime you sit watching your TV's while some national newscaster tells you that today we had thousands of kids dying of starvation, eleven homicides and thirty-three violent crimes, as if that's the way it's supposed to be.  It's like everything everywhere is going crazy. You sit in the house, and slowly the world you are living in is getting smaller, and all you say is, "At least leave me alone in my living room. Please, let me have my iPhone and my TV set and my new brand car with steel belted radials and I won't say anything. Just leave me alone." Bread and circuses to the sheeple.

Well, I'm not gonna leave you alone. I want you to get mad! I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to riot. I don't want you to write to your parlament because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and Al-Qaeda and the Russians and the crime in the street. All I know is that first you've got to get mad. You've got to say, "I'm a HUMAN BEING, Goddamnit! My life has VALUE!"

Pity the nation...

Pity the nation that is full of beliefs and empty of religion.
Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave,
eats a bread it does not harvest,
and drinks a wine that flows not from its own wine-press.

Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero,
and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful.

Pity a nation that despises a passion in its dream,
yet submits in its awakening.

Pity the nation that raises not its voice
save when it walks in a funeral,
boasts not except among its ruins,
and will rebel not save when its neck is laid
between the sword and the block.

Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox,
whose philosopher is a juggler,
and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking.

Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpeting,
and farewells him with hooting,
only to welcome another with trumpeting again.

Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years
and whose strong men are yet in the cradle.

Pity the nation divided into into fragments,
each fragment deeming itself a nation.

Khalil Gibran 

 published in 1933 in

The Garden of the Prophet

Educate your soul!

Dear teachers/professors,

• I came out alive from the concentration camps,
• My eyes saw things, that a human's eye should not see,
• I saw gas chambers constructed by well educated engineers,
• I saw childred getting poisoned by excellent educated doctors,
• I saw babies getting killed by well educated nurses,
• I saw women and babies getting assasinated and thrown to fire by university graduates,
• This is what I saw, and this is why I am skeptical regarding education,
• Now, there's one thing I ask from you, teachers : Help your students to become HUMANS! The efforts of the teachers should never result to educated monsters, psychopaths with diplomas, graduate Eichmanns.

Reading, writing and mathematics worth only, when they contribute so as our children to become humans!

Letter from a prisoner in Dachau concentration camp