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Your Owners Want You Dead
And you’re running on autopilot
One of the secrets to life is that most people never really know what to do.
When you’re little, you think your parents know what to do. Then, you start school, and you think your teachers know what to do.
You get to high school, and maybe you become more cynical about parents and teachers, but you look at classmates who are successful with school, friends, and dating. You think they know what to do, and you wonder why you don’t.
You get to college, and you start meeting people with jobs and spouses. They seem so grown up. You assume they have life figured out. Clearly, they know what to do.
You finish school. You get a job, maybe a spouse and kids of your own ... And somehow it still feels as though everybody else knows how to do things better than you do.
The truth is, we’re all in the same boat.
At each stage of life, the vast majority of us are just muddling along, with no clear idea of what we’re doing.
Some people are luckier, more talented, or better at faking it, but mostly, we’re doing what other people tell us to do, or what we believe is expected of us. At best, we follow traditions that represent successful methods developed by multi-generational trial-and-error. At worst, we just follow the mob.
This isn’t conjecture, by the way. There’s ample research that shows we don’t engage cognitive processes in the vast majority of actions we take.
To put it bluntly, we go through life on autopilot. We struggle to understand what’s happening “out there” in the world (or, more likely, on our screens), while ignoring what’s happening “in here,” within our own minds.
Life in the maze
Have you ever woken up at 3 a.m., vividly recalling a forgotten memory from years ago, or realizing some useful insight about your life? Maybe you jot it down, or tell yourself that you’ll remember it in the morning. Then, the next day, it doesn’t make as much sense as it did at 3 a.m., so you go back to doing what’s expected of you. You run the hallways of your maze, and you push the feeder bar that delivers the pellets you need (or think you need) to make it to the next day.
Maybe the pellets are food, and maybe they’re poison. You don’t know, but pushing the feeder bar seems to be the thing to do, and there’s nothing else to do in the maze, and you don’t have time to think about it, so you just do it. On autopilot.
And that, dear reader, is truly the mechanism of control.
Part of the reason why we never know what to do is because our ignorance keeps us off-balance and easy to control. As George Carlin pointed out, the entities that make the important decisions in our society “want people who are just smart enough to run the machines and do the paperwork,” but not smart enough to be anything other than obedient workers.
But there’s more to it than that. Running the maze keeps us occupied, distracted, and tired. That means we never stop to figure out what we should be doing instead. That’s why alcohol is legal, but psychedelics aren’t. Psychedelics have a nasty habit of switching off the autopilot, and making us look at things in a different way. That’s no bueno for the people who benefit from our maze-running. A normal rat runs a maze and pushes the feeder bar. He’s predictable. A rat on mushrooms might realize that he’s trapped and start chewing on the walls. Rats who chew on walls are undesirable for people who put rats in mazes.
Even without psychoactive substances, if rats could meditate or have in-depth conversations about their lived experiences, they might start asking questions about the situation they’re in. And people might do the same. That’s why the mazes are designed to keep us, above all, busy, isolated, and occupied.
This starts with children, and these days, it starts with the digital morphine drip that every one of them carries in their pocket. It teaches them to stay on autopilot, trains them to run the maze, and ensures they won’t question the way things are.
To extend the analogy, picture this: all our little, individual mazes are sitting on a big table in the lab, so it looks like we might be able to hop from one to the next. But, as the SNL skit “What’s the Best Way” went (back when SNL was funny), “You can’t get there from here.”
That’s why propaganda and censorship are so vital to maintenance of the status quo. Free speech is how we pass information from one maze to the next. If enough rats were to communicate with each other, they might stop running their mazes and start trying to chew through the walls that separate them.
That would not benefit the people running the lab.
In the same monologue, George Carlin pointed out that politicians aren’t actually in charge of anything. This is true. The politicians are in their own mazes. They don’t know what to do either. Instead, they’re just doing what they’re told by the likes of Klaus Schwab, Bill Gates, and the other A-list influencers that are the true rulers of our world. The people that Carlin (and others) call “our owners.”
Our owners are the ones outside the mazes. The ones in Ghislaine Maxwell’s little black book that the courts have mysteriously refused to open. The ones who attend meetings in Davos and Riyadh. The ones to whom the rules don’t apply.
In John Carpenter’s allegorical sci-fi movie “They Live,” the blind preacher character speaks at length about these owners. “Outside the limit of our sight, feeding off us, perched on top of us from birth to death, are our owners. They have us. They control us. They are our masters. Wake up! They’re all around you.”
In “They Live,” these owners are aliens. In reality, they are the psychopaths and sociopaths who benefit from our servitude and misery. They don’t just profit from our labor, they profit from us playing Candy Crush and jerking off to porn. They get richer and more powerful the more we eat processed food and sit in traffic jams. They benefit from everything that harms us, because their interests are antithetical to ours.
Our owners’ authority and gratification are mutually exclusive with our freedom and happiness. And now, thanks to technology, they don’t need nearly as many of us. That’s why they’re so obsessed with overpopulation. Why feed eight billion rats when you only need a few million slaves, and computers and robots can do everything else?
They used to want us in chains. Now they want us dead.
They don’t need us, and unless you can perform some useful service, like designing better robots or indulging their sexual perversions, we have zero value to them.
They aren’t trying to figure out better ways to control us anymore; they’re trying to figure out better ways to exterminate us.
You know what happens to lab rats when the experiment is over? The eight mice that the bivalent Covid booster was tested on found out. And unless we start chewing the walls, we’re about to find out too.
Braveheart was wrong. They already took our freedom, and now they’re taking our lives. This isn’t a fight for freedom anymore. It’s a fight for survival. Our liberty isn’t on the line, our humanity is.
That’s what’s at stake: humanity itself. We have to reclaim our right to live as human beings. The walls of our mazes aren’t plastic or steel, they’re fabricated from illusions and lies. If we turn off the autopilot, cut the digital morphine, and look around, we’ll see each other. Then, we’ll see our owners. And then, we’ll see how many of us there are, and how few of them.
And then, perhaps for the first time, we might know what to do.
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