And when I say Finally, in this context, I mean: There. Demons expunged. For the moment.
Because when you’re high, that’s the only time you don’t feel like an addict.
This is one of the many philosophical gems embedded in RB’s interview with Gabor Mate’. One of them.
Russell Brand & Gabor Mate | Damaged Leaders Rule The World
The title here is particularly brilliant to my eyes, because they actually spend very little time talking about “Leaders” or “Rule” in any explicit way. We’re all damaged. We’re all traumatized by the dysfunctions of this society, by the beliefs and fears it has embedded into us from the time our consciousness dawns (or before), and by the systems of royalist greed that underlie and infect our very morality.
The ‘winners’ in the horrifying game know it well, and full of their own pain, they use this knowledge to wreak still more damage, on fresh crops of babies, in the name of winning, or simply for the sociopathic fun of it.
This is the definition of tyranny, and tyrants, whether of petty tyrant clerks in the Castanedan sense, or the damaged leaders of the globally broken world and the self-breaking system of cold currency that runs it.
“Science has earned its place” in the human experience, but modern science isn’t scientific. It’s a hyper-rationalized debauchery of the process of normal human inquiry, and it serves the same masters that we are all compelled to serve in one way or another. The tyrants. The capitalists. Your data; their database.
Sterile rationalism and hyper-scientism scoff at the concept of the human soul.
That’s perfectly understandable.
Because if the World Order believed that humans had souls, they wouldn’t treat humans this way.
We have pseudoscience on the one hand, perverted to suit the needs of tyranny, crowing about the economic achievement of putting a supercomputer in everyone’s pocket, while dismissing the scientific fact that those sleek phones are nothing more than just one more tool for oppression and control–we’ve been trained to crave and covet the pretty toys that function identically to ear tags on livestock in a slaughterhouse.
On the other hand, ritual nods to fake religion. White House Prayer breakfasts. One nation under God. It’s a lie. No one could really believe in a just god and get one single moment’s sleep in a five hundred dollar hotel room, or a mini-mansion, while real humans are trying to sleep in the cold by the dozens outside.
The god of the culture isn’t Aphrodite or even a problematic Jehovah. The name of the culture’s god is Moloch, Mammon, the kind of god that demands literal child sacrifice and designer handbags.
The real god of this Empire is pointlessly cruel, insane, greedy, and pedophilic.
We worship it by murmuring to ourselves about the dignity of work, and glorify its name by dedicating our lives to wage slavery, for the sake of enriching its foul priests Elon and Bill and Jeff and Joe.
When the whole planet burns in a lake of fire, the priests plan to take off for a new planet in their spaceships, rising high above you and your family and feeling satisfaction that they made you pay so that they could live.
That’s the literal plan, my children.
If they ever get to Alpha Centauri they’ll fuck over that planet too, world without end, amen. But the truth is, they don’t even care. Their treasure was stored up long ago on earth, not in the heavens. In the past and not in the future. To minds so traumatized, winning here and now is enough. Winning far away and in the future would just be gravy-covered gravy.
Anarchy now.