Bill Drennan

ergosum 2

Today the term “slavery” has lost its once proudly fought-for value of indignation. For example, today you would not see a British coal miner slave spitting black lungsnot at his master, or viciously jerking off to a decaying radioactive picture of the Iron Lady & her cowboy friend. Those days are gone, forgotten. Not that I regret this. In a way, it makes no difference. It’s a matter of meteoric convenience for the ‘victor’ – doesn’t the victor wave the flag of superiority – always? – but only as victor, obviously enough – who must regard anything that is not under the shadow of his flag as a threat & to treat it as such. Which is, of course, the real threat – but only as long as the victor remains victor. The threat can only be sedated for so long. & who is to stop anyone from carrying the load for a bunch of miserable, scheming liars? You are. Isn’t that the essence of conspiracy? Mendacity? Liberation demands boundaries & strictures to struggle against. Most of these are ‘cultural’ & therefore imaginary, fake, inescapably forced. No point in convincing yourself you belong behind an imaginary border either. That’s where the trouble starts. Maps harbour the territorialness of the land-mooching animal & their contours cling to the border-scarred brain. The Ego is out on patrol. Now see – because those fucked up old energies weren’t adequately understood as they occurred, they were doomed to be swallowed by the cavernous jaws of false ‘historical’ fact (written by the ‘victor’ with the blood of someone else’s wound); & because this failure has led to miscomprehension & cultural blindness, those energies have folded in upon themselves & created an anti-dimension – a dimension that wants to undo itself – a too-late dimension brought about by a lack of foresight. Yet another Slave dimension. Gone, the frequencies of LSD, the de-cursed kingdoms of self-knowledge … knocked out of tune, time-bent into the overcrowded arena of ‘culture’ – its glut of Image, sanitised rants, soft Machiavellian blows to ‘liberty’. The wandering mind has been reigned back in. – Rule Britannia! – Tony Blair’s out of fashion! The Revolution is over! Let’s find another ‘leader’. The 60s died & were eaten by the worms of bourgeois Marxism, Help the Aged. Their never-really-threatening elevation of the prole was an overstated goal borne of an understated prognosis. They forgot that they too were slaves. The differences they highlighted then are today piffling little problems. So we can forget that now, & creep over to our battered old armchairs to conjure up some more arthritic analyses.

ergosum 4

The ‘lower orders’ are not to be distinguished by socio-economic status – which is far too inadequate on its own when it comes to dealing with well-intentioned intelligence – the kind of intelligence that wants to live without soap-operatic squabbles. The ‘lower orders’ are the jealous. Jealousy is the inability to control ill-seated emotions which emit the sulphuric stink of denial on any level that doesn’t elevate the jealous Ego. You can spot one of the lower orders quite easily: watch that greasy glimmer of satisfaction smear the face as it gloats over the suffering of a fellow crossbreed. One could be forgiven for thinking that the Ego survives on the suffering of others. & this runs in the opposite direction to the more benevolent Buddhist priority to ameliorate suffering. The old clichés still stand, of course. When someone says to you, “No pain, no gain”, or if they advise you to swallow this or that nasty medicine because ultimately it is for your own good – Well! – What can you say? But if someone from the lower orders gives this advice to you, isn’t the hazard obvious? If your psyche happens to come under assault from creatures of the lower orders, remember to behave in a charitable fashion. For example, you might simply want to make a theatrical spectacle of yourself & give them leave to watch you suffer. Lay it on too! Pretend to be whatever they want you to be. What they want you to be is anything that will tickle their reptilian laughter-centres. You’ll have them on the floor in agony, laughing, scales pinging from their lazily muscled skin. You can laugh too. They are too stupefied to know the difference. They eat lemons for breakfast & welcome the entertainment … especially in the late mornings, when hunger hangs their mouths into even more of a funk. When you see this hanging of the mouth, you know it is time. The next move is psychic Aikido. They have laid on the slobbers. You pick up the direction & mass of the energy cast from their disgruntled & superficial souls. You send it back during the spectacle – rebounding it – ripping them open with self-destructive giggles … like a suicide bomber whose lunch before the job is bread made of gunpowder. Timing is crucial. They want more lemon. It lifts their gobs & empowers them. The theatre overloads the circuitry of their Egohoods – Explodes that ugly narcissistic loop generated by the life of their self-obsessiveness. You will cripple them good & proper, stun their self-image to mush. You will only be able to do this when they are confident that you are within their powers. You have just faked an orgasm & coerced them into adapting to your lie. If the relationship is psychic parasitism on their part, this seems to be the only way to dispel that shitty old orgy of the Negative. The Jealous One might be Jehovah, the Prime Minister, El Presidente – probably the whole pack of them – as well as bus drivers, teachers, civil servants – it’s universal – like a phoney hierarchical religion that preaches a forced morality. Neither the big bosses nor the little people will permit humans to live on Planet Peace, & they do not really want to be here themselves. This is especially the case with the big bosses, who are far from home & are stuck here on a prison of a planet tricking the New World Ego into believing that it is also trapped – by Fear, Schism, Schizophrenia. We are more comfortable here than they are. We find comfort in beauty where they find only ugliness. Hence their star-frosted Jealousy. The alienation of the Lower Orders becomes everyone’s alienation, everyone’s problem.

Bill Drennan was born Glasgow, Scotland 1962. Began writing song lyrics in teens & soon realised that some ideas were too absurd for song. So writing on & off (mostly off) until he began to study literature at Liverpool University, where he became involved with other poets & read & published some poems & wrote a couple of unpublishable novels. Gradually, after finishing doc thesis on Blake & gnosticism & taking cover in reality, he continued to write, tho until recently was doing so fairly solo. Began blogging & reconnecting a couple of years ago. Author of flightpath resistor, (Spring 2007). Currently working on conspiracy machine. There are more examples posted on his blog. He's still in Liverpool.

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