Asymmetric warfare in the arena of the mind is the only way to get out of the hatchery where androids are cultivated and made. You attack the stasis, the rest points, the places where the machinery of the mind is absolutely sure things are what they’re made out to be. You come at those skyscrapers from all sorts of unconventional angles.
That’s what the surrealists did. They interrupted the eternal Hum of the skyscrapers of the mind. They were crazy, but they were heroes.
Most people don’t want to know about these things. They want to accept what’s handed to them, or they want to poke holes in the consensus, but they don’t want to invent something entirely different. No, that’s too much. The preacher or the scientist or the educator or the doctor might not like that. God might not like that. The universe might be offended. There are all sorts of figureheads who might be offended. These figureheads represent fundamentalisms. Reduced-down views of the world. Stupidly simple. Hypnotically simple. That’s how the game works.
You convince people that anything important is terribly simple. You keep boiling the soup and boiling the soup down until it’s almost nothing, and then you point to it and say, “There, you see? That’s what it’s all about. That’s all it is.” That’s what hypnotism is. The boiling down. The reduction. The old man in the sky sitting in a big chair combing his beard—and his cousin, the guy who wouldn’t agree and who was therefore suddenly the embodiment of evil. You boil it all down to that.
Then you hand that story to someone who’s there at the circus watching the elephants and the almost-naked beautiful lady standing on the elephant’s back and dreaming he could meet that lady somewhere quiet and, for once, experience pleasure in his blood. But that will never happen, because he’s got the story now, the good and the evil, the reduction, and he’s a goner. He’s an android in the garden of delights, shut out, waiting for the sun to go down, waiting for the dark curtain.
There are hundreds of ways to turn humans into android-like creatures. Humans will do it to themselves without any outside help. They’ll induce their own trance at the drop of a hat…while still remaining quite active, quite normal, quite average.
You can drag an android to water, but you can’t make him drink. And that’s the whole point. He won’t invent something. He won’t jump into his own imagination and invent something. He’ll just stare at the water and notice the pretty little reflections, including his own, and he’ll hang around hoping for something important to happen.
Mechanical thought is the big feature of the android mind. The connections may be sophisticated, but they’re quiescent. Pieces are hooked up to other pieces of ideas, but with no creative ambition or force involved.
Take a chance? Not on your life.
This, by the way, is how freedom dies. It just sits there and becomes a hard old stone, because a person won’t move and fly off that platform to invent something quite, quite different and new.
And all the while he’s shouting about how he wants his freedom. But he doesn’t want it. He wants the stone and the shadow in the hard dirt. He wants some kind of weird zero that’s reduced even further down to an absolute zero. That’s the subconscious of the android.
DARPA, the tech and mind-control arm of the Pentagon, is now embarked on yet another new project: how to insert images directly into the brain. No chips, no implants, no holograms sitting in space. That’s old hat.
Instead, beam signals directly into the visual cortex.
Of course, a lot of this is sheer PR science-hype, geared to get their hands on government cash for contracts. But it does show you where they want to go.
And human androids are the perfect target, because they’ll buy any image, as long they’re not creating it. Doesn’t matter where it comes from: the television set, the computer screen, the newspaper. They’ll take it in and eat it for lunch.
Theoretically, you could eventually outfit one of these passive good citizens with a complete wall-to-wall series of pictures—a movie—that would constitute his daily experience.
Riots in the streets, bombings, lootings, but all he’s seeing are rainbow gardens and cotton-candy machines and pink balloons and naked virgins.
“My brother Bobby called me again today and warned me that I’ve been sitting on my couch for six months, but he’s crazy. I’ve been living at Disney World, seeing the sights, riding the rides.”
He even has an adoring wife and two well-behaved children. They sprang up out of nowhere one day. He thought he was a loner living on the fringe of the city, but it turns out he’s a responsible family man.
Food stamps, welfare, disability. It’s a wonderful life.
Mickey Mouse is the President of the United States, Donald Duck is the Vice-President, and Goofy is the head of Homeland Security. The people have spoken. What more could they want?
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**This article was originally published at No More Fake News.**