ORGANIZATION MAN-FIRE TO PAN

After reading a magazine that Thom Moon Poet gave to me about a report on the Revolution, and following that up by watching a new documentary, whose title I think is “Prisoned Belief,” an expose of the Church of Scientology. Sometimes fiction is stranger than truth, but still a fool I can’t concede, I wrote this piece.

ORGANIZATION MAN-FIRE TO PAN

After the great war at the mid-century mark, before we ambled into the new Millennium,

The great American Imperialist hegemony reached out & settled its magnum corpus, lock-and-chain, its capitalistic claws, snatching up all the food, the material & technical resources, workers, technologies, don’t refer to it as “old,” the snitches in its fiery, yet smoldering maw; thus, Organization Man wailed in his new-birthday-suit- zeal—BORN & PROCESSED across the media & ad campaigns—the world—for Organization Man resembled a covertly death-defying man (I use this noun because of Patriarchy’s poisonous presence & hay ridin’ Sexism, wild as a wooly Java Lena, sometimes can emanate down-right boaring-ness to depths of unconscious soul, holding out its begging bowl linked to an online source, selling Futures, Pasts, Nows=the good life, the capitalistic pie in the sky, constantly grasping, seeing only numbers, not people’s hearts & bodies, minds, not workers, not immigrants, but transformed to techno-slave beings.

The old ways can’t save what is already dead, its currents move, devastating & killing everything in its path.

The Organization Man is trained and taught to expect to find obsolescence=an abrupt bankrupt system; planned (pre-meditated) obsolescence, to be exact. Obsolescent of any economic value.

So, you let the bosses stretch you on the rack in the town’s square, torturous brainwashing, indoctrination, & propaganda—if it showed itself as the “proper” ganda & the “proper” goose, you might have a unionized union here, they may get multiplication’s complexity & stock options from the Corporation, but not for person (s), bio-neural humans, noble & golden.

You begin to believe you have accomplished death—you’ve got no future, except as a stat in a book on Popular Culture Economics.

Even Pope Francis, global churchman, wants in; a living, not dead, saint, and a flesh-and-blood “savior-homo sapiens” said, “Humanity is called to recognize the need for changes to combat global warming” (Adbusters for World Revolution, p. 14, October, 2015).

“It’s not just the story, after all, but how the story is told” (Ibid., p. 36).

“’The wealthy,’” said Gandhi, “’are traitors to the community.’” “In distancing themselves from the source of the wealth, the rich contracted a spiritual infirmity” (Ibid., p. 19).

“Why don’t we come right out and say it. Economics is a spiritual matter” (Ibid., Kalle Lasn, p. 82).

Birth switch! Someone twitched baby Econ-Spirit to elder Capitalism Matters—as people of this outpost—bet their internal systems define themselves as landfills & messes; ineffectual.

The Elders have indigenous wisdom; we have the technologies of modern Science, some good, some evil—so what the hell are we doing? Indigenous wisdom is aligned with the Earth & Sky—listen to them, but then act. There’s no time, you say. “I can’t listen to them. I’m afraid of old people.”

Organizational Man retired & got a fool’s gold watch. He now waits in the “zone,” all he has is a virtual pasture, the era has jetted past our complaints, lying in a desert of old auto parts stores in Yemen.

Econ-Spirit-Heart-Woman has emerged as the sex-change operation took—born the new goddess of the “New-Age Consciousness,” not plain old new age consciousness.

She composes herself as a collection of interdependent, indeterminate systems & energy fields—putting people’s needs first—putting Eaarth first, putting future generations as priority, in co-alliances of groups & nations & think tanks who name themselves Eaarth & Space allies.

Reclaiming (You have to add the how’s, when’s, where’s, who’s, & why’s) the Eaarth, the seas, the Arctics, the land masses inhabited by all the rest of our finned friends, two-footeds, four-footeds, wing-shifters, the little ones that hide out in rocks & dirt& what you can’t see with a naked, shaking, cold eye has replaced the evil eye.

Can you see a future time, the pilot time-clock tics, has already pitched its frantic tocs, the epochs recollect history of former dis-empowerments—we don’t really believe we are the dynamic forces of a universal throne-de-throne: Patriarchy, privilege, possessions, materialism, imperialism, wealth outside the circle, etc.?

As we dream, think, write, draw, paint, share our stories, do more art, have children, do politics, discuss & critique, then speak our power to our battered death rattles…wait, can you hear that? I hear her cooing, playing with rattles & toys, happy, fresh-faced girls & boys, giggling,

Is that your soul laughing or crying?

All I hear is “tic, toc, tic, toc, toe.”

©Christopher Bear-Beam January 14, 2016

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