Once you have seen the face of the machine, you can no longer keep on with the meaningless conversations, you can’t even read the newspapers. All you want to do is kiss the earth and make love to somebody, in spirit. To breathe, in spirit. To hold on to the rope that leads you home, hold on to it with both hands, hold on to it like your life depends on it, and not let go. I suspect that those who are still excited about the newspapers, haven’t seen the face of the machine.
If world leaders were parents, we would have a very strange selection: On one end of the spectrum, a crazy, militarized parent with a whip who beats his child any time he does something forbidden, and on the other end, a neurotic, passive aggressive parent who feeds the child too much chocolate to earn popularity, and secretly slips meds into his soup so that the child remains a little disoriented at all times, and needs daddy.
The funny thing, if either child were to rebel (against the whip, or against the soup meds), things would get very dramatic and ugly, very quickly.
As a newcomer to this land, I know that stereotyping is an American sport. It is very much in your face if you grew up elsewhere. Being stereotyped by those who don’t understand your culture and never visited your home, is annoying as hell. But I think that when it comes to stereotyping American indigenous people in their own land, and using their spiritually significant symbols for costumes, it’s a whole different level of obnoxiousness.