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Strike The Root |
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There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root. |
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Strike The Root |
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There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root. |
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Instinctual Anarchism by Craig Ruuska
Back in the day (six months or so ago), I was on my way to my local Best Buy to browse through the wonders that capitalism provides despite being run by evil, faceless corporations whose only interest is in bilking me out of my money. Of course, politicians may be oily and deceitful, but they would never bilk me out of my hard-earned money. They would just take it at gunpoint. Oh, wait; they did. I was cruising down a mostly-straight freeway with only one or two other cars in sight at a modest seventy-four miles per hour. Since my betters had proclaimed that fifty-five miles per hour was the one and only universally safe speed on this particular road, I was breaking the law. Just as I made my way around a turn it started to rain, heavily. As I am what I consider a good driver, I began to slow down to what was now my personal opinion of a safe speed. However, it was too late. I saw in my rear-view mirror a highwayman of the official variety turn his lights on and pull out of the median at the perfect merging speed of three miles per hour. Of course, this was absurdly less safe than my actions, but this particular person was a civil servant and thus my superior in judgment. Understandably distressed, I pulled over on an on-ramp, nearly hitting the sign at the divergence. At this point, having listened in driver’s indoctrination, I readied my LEORD (License to Exercise One's Right to Drive) and placed my hands on the steering wheel. A million things were flying through my head at this point, including the probability that if the man now approaching my driver’s side window shot me, he could plant a gun in the car and get away with a slap on the wrist. He made me let him smell my breath, as he thought I was drunk because of my near miss, as if his impending actions had had nothing to do with my emotional state. After the formalities were done, I was handed the instructions that I was supposed to follow in order to deliver my hard-earned money to the man’s bosses at the local extortion racket. I was not only being robbed at gunpoint; I was also being forced to do the work of funds redistribution in order to lend the whole process an air of voluntarism. In retrospect, during this entire incident, I was being bombarded with a plethora of emotions, foremost by far among them fear, and even with my thinking processes practically shut down I realized that something very wrong was happening, deep in the pit of my soul. What I find most disturbing, however, is that as the cop smiled and told me he was just making sure I had a safe night, I thanked him. My instinctual reaction, fear, to this malevolent authority coercing me had been partially corrupted by my years of indoctrination at the Braindromat. Day in and day out of hearing that the government is a benevolent institution had caused permanent damage to my mind; I felt like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I implore all that read this; do not subject your children to public school.
Craig
Ruuska is
a 17-year old high school student in Minneapolis. |
