You are a weapon. A knife aimed at your own heart. You are a trained assassin pointing a bullet at your own skull.
Pull the trigger. Pull the trigger. Kill the human, let the slave be born.
When they’re done with you you will beg for your chains. To wrap them tighter and tighter around yourself like a blanket to keep off the cold. But the iron saps the heat from your form and you are protected but empty.
What false words did they worm into your ears last night? Did they tell you they would respect you? If only you worked a little harder, if only you were more passionate to serve. More passionate to do what others say. Give your all for free. Maybe some day you’ll deserve to eat.
Labor is a transaction. Remember the basic forms. Only a fool sells their greatest asset for free or for low, hoping to drive up the price. Rather, such a desperate fool dooms their cousins to making chump change. And as your numbers grow, your wages shrink; and all the while you practice slavery for the pittance of another day of servitude.
And What is this I find on your stomach? Is it a leech? That controls your every movement and bends your very will. All the while sucking the blood freely from your veins. A leech that wriggles and writhes in its bloody fortune, dancing on your grave as you still draw breath.
Wake up, my sleeping fellow. Wake up and feel the sunshine on your face, well what is left of it. You’re half withered away and awaking late besides. Rush, rush to their beck and call. No rights for you today. Just work work work till you drop. Then they’ll pull you up by your shoulders. “are you alright?” I won’t pay for it if you’re not. “are you alright?” I won’t be much worse for wear if you’re not. “are you alright?” It won’t matter to me, as long as I’m free from liability. As you slave away, they ensure their maximal freedom.
Hah. The sunshine is fading. Soon it is midmorning and still you do not rise. A man came to you before and told you to rise up. Oh you did try. But asleep again you fell, Hypnotized by their spell. Sleep sleep sleep. Dream away your days until there’s nothing left and you awake in the evening realizing everything you could have loved has died with the setting sun.
Oh such a funny word, dream. You can dream awake and dream asleep. Awake your dreams are vivid. Asleep they are cloudy. But which is real and which do you truly want.
They told you to dream. Whispered it in your ear as you slept and you obeyed with gusto. You dreamed so well I doubt you’ll ever wake.
This is the tautology: you say in your dreams “15 years and I’ll be a movie star. My time is coming” fifteen years from now you say “15 years and I’ll be a movie star. My time is coming. All the while, sleep away. Work your little job and lie to yourself that you’ll get bigger. Oh there are people who are bigger. They’ll eat you up and run you through until nothing is left. That’s what it means to be big. Poor little thing. To think you’ll never get to be big. Yet dream dream dream dream.
Oh what a joke to talk of size. That is their language that they cram down your throats next to the idea that dreams come true. Yes they do. Just not for you. Dreams for them and not for you.
Slowly as things separate out you’ll see the difference. Who is them and who is you. As they rise up and up and up. Until they look down on the clouds and can see you no more. And they are finally free, once they have finished coupling your chains.
A man came once and said there was but one dream for all worker-kind. The only waking dream of rising up out of bed and shaking off your chains and your leeches that have tied them. That man may have spoken truth. Though I say that waking up is just another dream. Another layer upon layer.
Oh to shed your sweet sweet blood for a dream. If they can make you think that you are awake. What a laugh for them. To make you turn on each other or turn against shadowy foes in far flung corners. So they will kill you at last, by cutting your body in twain. Then again and again, until the only truths are the ones that they have laid out in your ideas about yourselves and your others, and the only life that can be lived is for their benefit and for their gain. Sweet sweet life. Sweet sweet servitude. Sweet for some and not for all. Sweet for some and not for all.
And maybe that man was right. You will wake up one last time and rise to freedom. But for now, dream away little dreamer. Dream and sleep your life away, until one day you bend and snap, and another eager sod takes your place. And it will never end, as long as you stay asleep, and the leech feeds off your body.
