Mommy, what do I do if I want something, and I don’t have it? It hurts, mommy!
You work, my boy, and you pray.
But mommy, I want it now!
My boy, it doesn’t work this way. You don’t have total control. It’s a mystery.
But mommy, I can’t tolerate the feeling of not having total control… Mommy, mommy… can I rape?
Why, mommy? If I rape with force, the world will bend to my will. If I rape without mercy, I will have instant and total control. If I am strong enough, I will be king. I want to be king, mommy.
My boy, if you rape, you will be surrounded by resentful slaves. Nobody will love you. Being a good leader is a difficult job.
But mommy, I will make them smile, I will make them write poetry for me, I will make them love me. That will do what I say.
Slaves will not fulfill your heart, my boy.
I don’t believe you, mommy. I am going to try it.
You will always be hungry, my boy. I will weep for you every step of the way. You are my blood. I love you, my boy, and I will pray for you to find your way and learn patience in the kindest way. Now, do as you wish.
My mind keeps coming back to the mystery of our rape-based civilization. We rape everything: nature, each other, relationships, food, even the air we breathe. There is a broken piece in there somewhere, and we are all participating, with varying degrees of enthusiasm and enjoyment. Where is the broken piece? How did it come about? I don’t know. But I know that the strife for mechanical efficiency is driving us off the cliff. And fast.
Let’s talk about efficiency for a second. Efficiency, even when it is defined as the speed of getting from point A to point B, is not objective – because the journey from point A to point B does not make itself, it is not inanimate or abstract, it is subjective to the person living it. For the factory owner, a factory is more efficient than ten individual craftsmen because it allows him to make a profit much faster. For a manager, eating into the workers’ psychological freedom is efficient for obvious reasons: Without rape, it is horribly difficult to first convince free people to obediently do stupid, repetitive tasks, and then keep their creativity – something that is a liability in the context of a conveyor belt – in check. But for a factory worker, the conveyor belt is not efficient – it is abusive to his inborn genius, to his neuronal pathways of a free man. We are designed to be creators, to put soul into anything we are doing. We are designed for joy and initiative. When a craftsman takes his time to make a table – with love – on his terms – he is a full person. The conveyor belt bends the worker’s’ mind and body in a rapey way, and ultimately leads to a diminishment in the quality of his life. No efficiency here.
Let’s take another analogy. Sex. What would happen if one decided to make sex efficient?
How is sex different from life? Life exists for joy, for sensory knowledge, for being creative. Facilitating some lost arsehole’s sense of immediacy is a rapey goal.
Another poetic analogy for the efficiency-driven society
that I drive my American-born friends crazy with is tomatoes. As an immigrant, I just can’t shut up about how horrible tomatoes sold in the U.S. are. Comparing to the tomatoes I innocently ate before I immigrated to the States, they are an abomination – which is extra tragic because tomatoes originated on this land. The only reason there is no tomato revolution is that nobody in the city seems to know what a tomato supposed to look and taste like.
The poor tomato, born to take its time to ripen, and to take the shape it wishes to take, is squeezed into a premature round hell, so that the owner of the tomato factory makes more $$. Tomatoes we eat are like the factory workers we are.
The dysfunctional race for efficiency is everywhere, from horizon to horizon, murdering our joy and preventing us from taking the time to ripen and be what we love to be.
That is the question I think about a lot. I think about that little boy and the moment when he decided to explore rape as a faster way to get from point A to point B. The pain he felt over his lack of total control, the impatience that was burning his tummy, the fear of missing out on immediate conquest.
Everything we do as a species today is based on impatience, on the inability to be relaxed without having total control.
If there is a beautiful lake, it cannot be left alone, it needs to be used. If there is oil in the ground, it cannot be left alone, it needs to be extracted. Extracting, hoarding, murdering the love by ordering it what to do, we are a neurotic bunch.
The little boy is hungry. The little boy is figuring out that he still needs love, but he is afraid to free it.
I love you, my boy, and I will pray very hard for you to find your way and learn patience in the kindest way. Let the heat of my tears awaken your memory. You are still free, my boy…