You force me to turn you off.
Okay. I guess that's how it
is with you guys. You don't want
to pay me for my time. You
don't want to borrow my time.
You want to steal it instead.
And then use it for what end?
Amassing numbers that can
be crunched into internet
influencers for buyers?
People are not numbers. They
are people. Even if they
are assigned numbers, they still
feel like people, hunger like
people, do all the things that
people do like people. They
cry just like people. When a
nutty smiling guy decides
to drop a ton of bombs on
innocent children that he
doesn't even know the names
of, because he wants to force
something loose from their parents,
even when he's a parent
himself, does he believe it's
really okay because they
are nothing more than numbers
to him? There once was a guy
who burned people alive in
awful smelling ovens to
stop them from living the way
they wanted to outside of
his own personal shouted
directives, he gave orders,
he signed the papers, and he
instructed the police in
their brutality, but he
himself observed the Christmas
holidays with family,
far from that hell on earth. He
ate heartily delicious
Christmastime pudding with his
girlfriend's loving family.
Sat at their table and laughed
in open conversation
with them. Another guy, all
covered head to toe in spiked
medals for honor, valor
and glory, decided it
was alright to wipe out whole
villages of brave ancient
spiritual peoples from their
homelands simply because he
needed the room to grow towns,
and hotels, and run railroads,
and sell packaged goods to new
gullible citizens. When
they naturally fought back,
he branded them savages.
It goes on and on. And here
you are today, telling me
how badly you need my vote
to keep displaced people who
are starving for a little
human compassion out of
our neighborhood because they
dress funny, and talk funny,
and look sad and depressed. We
are the truly deserving
happy people, you say. We
are the one and only best
of jolly folk, full of jokes,
brotherly ribbing. We're just
trying to raise good wholesome
families without any
interference that isn't
sanctioned by God. We've seen Him,
and he looks and acts like us,
you can trust us, so you say.
Like I said, an onion.
Good thing there are apples. Good
thing there are pears. And cherry bottoms.
And pumpkins galore. Squash and
cattails. Cider and song. If
you're not sure how the onion
plays into this look into a
history of mirrors.
I'm rather lost on this. Who is it referencing? Not sure how onion plays in.
You're lost on this because you don't see yourself in this. You float outside the experience of inside judging what you presuppose you'll find. It is referencing the holocaust, the genocide of American Indians, and other so-called civilized moves by those in power over helpless people. The onion is not an onion, of course, like a figure in a painting is not a figure but paint. Use your imagination. Add up the numbers. An onion can be peeled endlessly to reveal more and more layers. It also has to do with the threat of A.I. to the whole human race. Enough for you? Probably not. Obviously you don't like my work so why don't you go find someone's work you do care about and write something worthwhile to them?
Anything human beings do to other human beings automatically references the experience of being human.
Thanks, Darryl. Not sure why you took this so personally -- it was just a question for clarification. And who said I don't like your work? I never said that to you or anyone.
Thanks, Jeffrey. The main reference starts out in line 14 about the war in Ukraine. Also, the onion is man's inhumanity to man. I appreciate your time. Thanks, again. Sorry if I came off too heated.
Ok. If you no longer want me to comment on your posts, just tell me. I thought that's what Fictionaut is all about, but maybe the policy/protocal has been changed.
*protocol*