January 10, 2015
The machine wants to take you to a room where everything you might believe or could believe is reduced to marshmallow fluff.
The machine wants to give you a smug face and a minor education in minor matters. It wants to make you feel satisfied and overfed.
The machine keeps telling you about salvation tomorrow or the destruction of the world tomorrow. Ultimate rescue, ultimate fate. The spiritual food of yokels.
The machine wants to watch you, because it has nothing better to do. It wants you to construct a profile of yourself that mirrors its profile of you.
The machine wants you to obey only because that is the ultimate distraction from doing what you would otherwise do.
The machine wants you to believe in the one and only space and time, as a fully-fledged customer of the continuum. The machine wants you to get down on your knees and worship the universe.
The machine wants you to speak the same flat clicking language everyone else speaks.
The machine wants you to think you have awakened from one uniform trance that is not your own.
The machine wants you to think you know everything worth knowing.
The machine wants you to stay with your god forever.
The machine wants you to recognize only what you have already recognized.
The machine wants you to remain addicted to what others have already invented.
The machine wants you to build a wall between what you can feel and what you can’t feel.
Then the machine will retire.
Jon Rappoport
Pic: Mike Lesser