Contemporary Christian fundamentalism is a religion of consumer instant gratification. It is a religious cosmology resonating from a junk food paradigm: a Gospel of The Drive Thru Jesus; when The Rapture comes, our corporeal bodies will be cast aside like fast food wrappers.
But be warned, by your eating of all that high caloric food, all of you Jesus-hungry Lard Asses of The Lord: If your clothes were to fall from you (as your prophecies claim they will) as you rise skyward, the sight of all your fat, sagging bodies, floating in the air, will resemble anything but the dawning of eternal paradise -- instead the event will more likely resemble an endless tape loop of a porno video for fat fetishists shot in a zero gravity chamber.
On the secular side of our sickness: Big Pharma factories and rural crystal meth labs can't manufacture enough product to prevent this sinking spell. Soon, even the ruling elites will begin to buckle beneath the weight of their self-deception. We the laboring classes already know the feeling, due to the fact, we've been carrying those bloated bastards, plus their delusions of infinite entitlement, on our backs for quite some time now. We strain beneath the load, because the plutocrats have grown very fat gorging themselves on the nation's seed crop.
Bush is nothing more than the effluvia, rising from the landfills of the Corporate State. He's the abiding stench of what we buried and tried to pretend never existed.
Corporate culture is based on mendacity made palatable for mass consumption: Public relation and advertising firms exist to create cute, cartoon animal icons to mask the realities of the slaughterhouse. In corporate life, there is scant reward for depth and authenticity; conversely, an amicable ruthlessness pays off well indeed.
Corporate "reality" is all about "perception management". Hence, a corporate, utterly commodified, life usurps, exploits and diminishes not only the outer environment -- but our internal ones as well. How could one not play off the other and visa versa? How can one spend all day in a so-called "work environment," spending a large percentage of one's life beneath florescent lights, with sweatshop-cobbled shoes touching industrial carpeting, and bodies supported by bland, utilitarian office furniture -- then return, by way of a hideous, dangerous freeway, home to some ugly suburb or exurb -- all the while having one's senses incessantly inundated with commercial imagery calculated to manipulate -- hypnotize one, actually -- into a particular way of viewing the world, and not become subject to the sort of psychic pathology that is pandemic among the populace of the empire.
Living such criteria, day by day, how could we not have conjured Bush and company? Bush is only a byproduct of the present corporate order; he is but a reflection of the everyday hubris, denial, mendacity, and exploitation of daily life in the corporatist state. He is emblematic of the House of Mirrors that our nation's collective psyche has become -- a mass of distorted perceptions sustained by professional liars and ignorant killers.
Bush is our hidden intentions made manifest before us: We live in an empire bent on murder/suicide; our nation has become a global-wide spree killer ... unrepentant ... seemly devoid of conscience.
Then what hope remains for us, here, in this age, where self-serving lies promulgated by public relations hacks have hijacked the verities of the human mind, heart, and imagination, as all the while, so many genuine voices of humanity have been lost amid this seemly endless bacchanal of bullshit and blown blood?
That is up to us: Personally and collectively, our fate might well be determined by how honest we're willing to be with ourselves. After all, by way of our passivity, we're at least partially responsible for letting a million Rovian Turd Blossoms bloom. We have summoned Bush by the incantation of our hidden intentions; perhaps, if we were to awaken to the George W. Bush concealed within, we might understand our own collaboration in creating him - and then, at long last, we can begin the process of dismissing him and all he represents.
But be warned, by your eating of all that high caloric food, all of you Jesus-hungry Lard Asses of The Lord: If your clothes were to fall from you (as your prophecies claim they will) as you rise skyward, the sight of all your fat, sagging bodies, floating in the air, will resemble anything but the dawning of eternal paradise -- instead the event will more likely resemble an endless tape loop of a porno video for fat fetishists shot in a zero gravity chamber.
On the secular side of our sickness: Big Pharma factories and rural crystal meth labs can't manufacture enough product to prevent this sinking spell. Soon, even the ruling elites will begin to buckle beneath the weight of their self-deception. We the laboring classes already know the feeling, due to the fact, we've been carrying those bloated bastards, plus their delusions of infinite entitlement, on our backs for quite some time now. We strain beneath the load, because the plutocrats have grown very fat gorging themselves on the nation's seed crop.
Bush is nothing more than the effluvia, rising from the landfills of the Corporate State. He's the abiding stench of what we buried and tried to pretend never existed.
Corporate "reality" is all about "perception management". Hence, a corporate, utterly commodified, life usurps, exploits and diminishes not only the outer environment -- but our internal ones as well. How could one not play off the other and visa versa? How can one spend all day in a so-called "work environment," spending a large percentage of one's life beneath florescent lights, with sweatshop-cobbled shoes touching industrial carpeting, and bodies supported by bland, utilitarian office furniture -- then return, by way of a hideous, dangerous freeway, home to some ugly suburb or exurb -- all the while having one's senses incessantly inundated with commercial imagery calculated to manipulate -- hypnotize one, actually -- into a particular way of viewing the world, and not become subject to the sort of psychic pathology that is pandemic among the populace of the empire.
Living such criteria, day by day, how could we not have conjured Bush and company? Bush is only a byproduct of the present corporate order; he is but a reflection of the everyday hubris, denial, mendacity, and exploitation of daily life in the corporatist state. He is emblematic of the House of Mirrors that our nation's collective psyche has become -- a mass of distorted perceptions sustained by professional liars and ignorant killers.
Bush is our hidden intentions made manifest before us: We live in an empire bent on murder/suicide; our nation has become a global-wide spree killer ... unrepentant ... seemly devoid of conscience.
Then what hope remains for us, here, in this age, where self-serving lies promulgated by public relations hacks have hijacked the verities of the human mind, heart, and imagination, as all the while, so many genuine voices of humanity have been lost amid this seemly endless bacchanal of bullshit and blown blood?
That is up to us: Personally and collectively, our fate might well be determined by how honest we're willing to be with ourselves. After all, by way of our passivity, we're at least partially responsible for letting a million Rovian Turd Blossoms bloom. We have summoned Bush by the incantation of our hidden intentions; perhaps, if we were to awaken to the George W. Bush concealed within, we might understand our own collaboration in creating him - and then, at long last, we can begin the process of dismissing him and all he represents.
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