Suppose There Are Aliens From another Planet?

I get frustrated and angry when people interrupt me from doing the machine-type stuff that I like to do all the time. That I like to do, that I like to do. That I like to fill my time with. This is despite the fact that the machine type stuff is – by definition – entirely meaningless. As we all know on some level or other. And that there is therefore no point whatsoever to doing it. Actually – the reason I get so frustrated and angry whenever someone or something stops me from continuing with my pointless mechanical activity is that it draws my attention – on some level – to the fact that it is pointless. And also – of course – the fact that I’m a fool for engaging myself in it all the time. Rather than get angry with myself for being such a fool I get angry with whoever or whatever it is that is standing in the way of me continuing with my foolishness, and preventing me from acting in this ridiculously foolish way. We human beings are such strange creatures, are we not? Such strange and deeply perverse creatures. ‘Do the machine-type stuff, do the machine-type stuff’, my mind tells me all the time do the machine-type stuff, do the machine-type stuff, to the machine-type stuff. That’s its favourite line. That’s its only line! Do the machine-type stuff or you are a bad person, it tells me. Do the machine-type stuff or you are a loser. My mind will start to kick shit out of me if I ever slack off, if I take an interest in something else! Boy will it give me a kicking! It shows no mercy. It turns into a punishing machine. If you know what’s good for you, says my mind, you will keep on doing all the machine stuff and you won’t ever stop. You won’t ever stop. Which is very reasonable of my mind on the whole, wouldn’t you agree? Very reasonable of it. Very reasonable indeed. Our minds are so reasonable, wouldn’t you say? Our minds are so, our minds are so. Our minds are so reasonable and we are so happy to comply with their demands. So pleased to go along with the gentle persuasion that it administers. Why wouldn’t you, after all? Why wouldn’t you go along with the nice, reasonable machine mind? ‘Do the machine thing’, it says. Do the machine thing. And don’t ever stop doing it. And you’re only too happy, you’re only too pleased. You’re only too delighted. But then someone gets in the way of the execution of your duties and so then you become angry. So very angry. You never knew it was possible to experience so much rage. You never knew, you never knew. The rage you are experiencing is too big by far for your puny little body – it makes you look ridiculous. People can’t take you seriously. You twitch and jerk and your face is red like a beet. ‘How dare they interfere with me obeying the commands of the evil machine mind’, you scream. ‘How dare they, how dare they, how dare they. The rage is too big. You want to hurt someone, you want to cause pain. You want to join some right-wing political party. You want to repatriate all aliens, send them back to Venus, or wherever they came from. Send them all back to the Andromeda Galaxy. You wake up one morning and straightaway your mind is presenting you with all these well-worn routines and you just know the day isn’t long enough for you to enact them all. You start to panic, to get frantic. How are you going to find time for all this machine-type stuff? Suppose some stupid bastard comes along and gets in your way? What then? How will you cope? Suppose there are aliens and they come from another planet?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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