what matters/the echo

MARIPOWER716 at aol.com MARIPOWER716 at aol.com
Mon Jul 14 09:40:07 MDT 2003


In a message dated 7/13/03 6:40:33 PM Pacific Daylight Time,
rhh1 at gotadsl.co.uk writes:


Or, perhaps, is socialism the finer details of the transformation of values
into prices, and that somehow I have missed the point?

Puzzles me.

Richard.
Canterbury, Kent.


Comment

And I thought I got pissed off.

Uugh . . .I do not know exactly how to explain this and will probably make
matters worse, but there ain't no more bankers left. They went the way of all
flesh and nothing remains but the phantom archetype or he who is the echo.

We still have "banks" and money stores but workers - administrators, run them
from top to bottom. The computer - ATM machines is knocking out the bottom.
In my estimate you are no less than 50 years to late too stab the banker and
mistake the ghosts of the past for the great echo.

The bourgeoisie and then what Marx called the modern bourgeoisie was
liquidated as a class and this most certainly included that sector of the
money-capital owning class called bankers. The railroad barons also took the hit big time,
on whose heels followed the magnates of auto. He who is of money today
possesses no real money. Look in his hand and behold how he holds the echo. An echo
cannot be slain by murder, outmaneuvered by larceny by trickery or jailed in
cages meant for flesh.

I do understand historical anger. There are millions of people on earth right
now still angry over the foul murder of Master Mason Hiram Abif for not
disclosing the secrets of Solomon's Temple, and act out this murder in rituals.
Other's are very angry over the murder of Jesus of Nazareth and stand ready to
avenge his harsh treatment. I forget how many children - not adults, die each
day as the direct result of capital. It's enough to give one an extremely bad
hair day. I no longer grieve the death of Marilyn Monroe, which probably has
something to do with my apparent insensitivity - but why love again?

What drives men and women to challenge the odds and face the impossible dream
is the impossible situation. Injustice stinks and becomes intolerable. The
stink does not know it stinks. My entry into the social movement for change was
realization that something was not "right" or quite on the Western front.
Something got in my nose and I could not get it out.

One can most certainly be a socialist on the level of their being. I am not
such a being. I fight the echo who cannot be fought by confronting the echo
itself.

Therefore I became a communist and tend to fight and do things in front of me
because my nose will not let me do different. My personal investigations -
driven by the nose, have proven to me and create as well as shape my view that
society is actually rushing towards communism.

Humble beyond comprehension and facing the great echo, Molotov - whose wife
was unjustly imprisoned under absurd circumstances, stated in his rather dry
diplomatic manner of speaking that, "all roads lead to communism, more than
less."  When I face the great divide and go the way of all flesh, it is he - tiny
Molotov, who is the Saint Peter guarding the Great Gates that carry one to the
road leading to the chamber, where sits he who inscribed on the banner, "to
each according to their need, from each according to their ability."  At his
side is the other Great one.

The multitude ... man, began dying in the before time, before man separated
from the four-legged ones when the sun rose backwards. During the second coming
man was no longer one with the four-legged ones and the Sun rose in the East
and set in the West and the people knew it was wrong because everyone was
always dizzy. The dying increased. From that day till now the dying and insanity
increases. The echo fools everyone because his is the unreal that springs from
the real.

Comrade Henry Liu can be no more than an echo in his job description. How can
one be an investment banker after the banker has expired and been taken to
the final burial by the grim reaper? These are the last days of the insanity. An
echo must never be confused with he who was the echo creator; least one risks
being engulfed in the insanity and trapped between the moment that separates
night from day. Here is where all the tears are stored. To be trapped in the
moment is a certain death from drowning.

Here is the piece that completes the puzzle. The more learned calls the echo
and his inevitable passing the actual operation of the movement of antagonism.
Here is where the echo is housed.

Melvin P.





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