3005
« on: August 28, 2009, 03:48:24 pm »
Dear Sirs,
Upon learning of the untimely and tragic demise of our Glorious Revolution, I was stricken with such unimaginable remorse and grief that for a moment all hope was lost for me. I stopped eating for a week because when I could muster the sanity to fill my belly, I could not keep anything down. I spent three days lying naked and assprone on the floor of my bathroom, wailing and sobbing and cleaning the grout with my wife's toothbrush. I was inconsolable. The Revolution had meant everything to me, and when I heard that it was over, I was unable to think or breathe or do any of the other things that normally would distinguish me from a corpse. My life was filled, suddenly, with a deluge of contradicting emotions and unstoppable bouts of compulsive masturbation to try to hide the pain of losing what had become, I realized too late, my most trusted and reliable friend -- the Discordian Society.
I remember the old days, when the Revolution was bright and new. The world was dull and grey; devoid of imagination; full of schmucks and lackeys standing in line to be slapped upside the head by the uncaring, two-faced system they had accidentally built to protect themselves from anything they might want to become. Oh, but we had light and color! We had something different and off-beat, something that stood in such striking contrast to the dim world of the Greys that it nearly fractured our own ideas about the nature of reality itself.
But the Machine adapted, and we failed to match its adaptation. We tried, and we got damn close, but every time we added a new color to our palette, They added fifteen different shades and hues to theirs. We alerted the People that they had no real choices in life, and the Machine answered with Customized MySpace Profiles. We screamed about the lack of value in modern living, and in return we got Buy-One-Get-One-Free. Our every turn has been blocked, every exit barred, every exodus from the world of the Greys sidetracked into an amusement park.
As a movement, we are now little more than a squirming mess of whiners, vaguely uncomfortable but not really driven to change. I count myself among these. For all my trying to change the world (or at least my segment of it), I have remained at all times attached to the convenience of living in it. I have sold my soul like everyone else. I am, like the rest of the hairless apes on this rock, a hypocrite, a liar, and a fraud, because I subscribe to the benefits of our defective civilization and pretend they are not inherently and inextricably linked to every last one of its faults.
So my grief at the end of this ride is not that we have lost our Cause, but that we have succeeded in changing the world after all. It is only that it seems when we set out to make this world a more colorful place we forgot that, to produce all that color, someone would have to dump a whole lot of toxic sludge and make a lot of cheap shit out plastic. In the course of turning our civilization into a tolerant and open-minded Utopia, we disregarded the byproducts of limited freedom of thought and speech. And now, in the cabals of Discordia and the dens where the Subgenii laze, the pronunciation of judgment against the world outside has turned awkward because we must now tear down what we demanded They build.
The Revolution is over.
Long live the Revolution.
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