(Graphic source: http://jrmora.com/)
Barbara H. Peterson
I control your every thought. Your daily routine revolves around me. You can’t wait to get home and see what I have to offer. At night when you are away you wonder what I am doing, and how you can be with me. You are so easy to control. All I have to do is entice you with a bit of flash and you are right there to do my bidding. When you shop, you buy what I tell you to buy. When you drink, you drink what I tell you to drink. When you drive, you drive what I tell you to drive. You have no real thoughts of your own that I have not somehow influenced. You believe what I say because you have been raised with me as your guide. Your mentor. Your nanny. There is nothing that you do that I have not influenced.
And this is no accident.
I was placed in your life to make you easily controllable. To do my bidding so that those who profit off of your actions can get rich and powerful. So they can use you to make their lives more comfortable while you toil day and night fulfilling my commands. You are my slave. And you don’t even know it. You think that I make your life more comfortable. More enjoyable. That I am there to ease your loneliness, entertain you at your bidding, and that you control me and are in charge. Nothing could be further from the truth. You love what I do for you, and my controllers love what you do for them. You are like a battery that when depleted, is simply tossed aside in the scrap heap and turned to dust, never knowing that your only useful function was to keep the machine going that runs the system that enslaves you. And they laugh all the way to the bank. Scraping your dust off their shoes like it never existed. And you willingly do their bidding.
Who am I? You call me by different names: media, television, football, Olympics, advertising, and the list goes on. You are the spectator that fuels the propaganda machine that ties you to the system of indebtedness and slavery. And you pay for it with your time, energy and your very lives. You are the fuel that keeps the fantasy going. In fact, you demand the enslavement.
You take pills that are prescribed to you for made-up ailments that you see on TV that are pushed by Big Pharma and by the men in white coats that play God while you get sicker and sicker, never wondering if maybe there is something wrong and maybe you are being lied to by these legal drug pushers. You just swallow the lies hook, line and sinker.
You watch programs with half naked people espousing that having the morals of a chimp is all well and good just as long as everyone says it is, and think that the only way that you can be happy is to buy into the ‘physical beauty is the best thing going’ lie. And you don’t question it. Not for a minute. You just go along day to day, grinding away at a meaningless job until you drop and don’t question why.
And each morning, you can make a choice. A choice whether to go on doing the same thing, day after day, or not. To make a difference, or not. To remain a slave or not. But you don’t. You let others make that choice for you. They don’t call it “programming” for nuthin’ folks…
©2016 Barbara H. Peterson