Repeating Stuff
Who said it is boring?
That mindless, slavish repetition
is only fit for zombies, numbskulls?
The same ole, same ole ennui,
hammering a stone to make a dent
when long enough dripping will do!
To pound grain, grind axes and
fast-forwarding, eat, sleep, wash
on and on ad nauseum, until the hours merge into years then lives
- all gone in a blip.
Overpopulation’s excess used for
cannon fodder, faceless workforces
and the polyglot, proletariat sheep?
The way for children to learn
as well as in Artificial Intelligence,
via statistically proven algorithms
- in aid of actionable conclusions;
hysteria, hypnosis, mind-washing
and language-learning by rote,
while asleep or innately from birth.
Chants, Psalms, formulae, rosaries, prayer-wheels, dance classes,
drumming - besides subliminal advertising!
Isn’t breathing itself deadly dreary,
even blinking?!
How long does a deed, idea or desire need monotonously doing,
thru’ periods of consciously shaping
to become numb, automated habit?
“prayer gets nowhere till it’s boring”
a sage once said.
imprinted right into the malleable, sub and supra-mind
- like cement-filler or sap resin.
The interminable reenactment of vitally underpinning menial tasks
in everyday, grassroots society -
any and every: compartmentalizing
and being segregated like mad
into sub-groups, hierarchies, lists
- reducible to digits, preferably.
A ghetto world - of slavery, mining, construction, industrial manufacture of parts and textile
s, processing and hands-on agri-commodity business around foodstuffs -
(hoofed, finned, clawed or rooted)
howsoever partly-roboticized.
Then, at indispensable rock-bottom,
sewage, waste and water treatment, even hospitality, office and care;
plus terminal underworlds of prostitution, narcotics, smuggling
of organs, humans, animal parts
and unlaunderable gold -
brim with forced labour, disrespect, neglect and abuse.
The world's seething masses of itinerant, casual jobless; hopeful
to worthily drive, dig, scrub, peel potatoes, tap machines, sweep roads
or wait in queues for handouts, soup and sympathy.
All for a crust of bread.
P.S.
Boredom is the outgrowth canker
and malignant effect
of effete and entitled affluence,
wherein privilege hasn’t the foggiest
and doesn’t want to know; while
that which is beyond its purview
is judged as irredeemably fake.
May