You are free, dear wage slaves, you are all free to serve me, to serve my fortune, to service my mass wealth. You are free, dear slaves, to watch my shows, to live out the life that I have drawn for you. Of course you are free, dear slaves, you are free to live the life of servants, working in my officers and my factories.
You are not free to protest, but you are free to buy yourself a piece of chocolate on the weekend. You are not free to stand in front of a bank, but you are free to vote for puppet A or puppet B. You are not free to speak up, to rise above your physical and spiritual poverty, but you can move freely within this poverty.
You are free to become a servant of the state, but you cannot question the state that protects me. You are free to write a book about radical resistance, but you are not free to publish it for anyone except your isolated mind.
You are free to dance in industrial warehouses on the weekend, but you are not free to dance in front of my corporation’s headquarters. My police officers will come and they will kick your fucking ass, they will escort you back to your wage-slave positions.
You are not free to protest but you are free to buy yourself a Chanel perfume bottle to cover up the stench of poverty. You are not free to organize yourselves, because poor people must remain scattered, isolated and controlled. You are not free to crush your exploiter because your exploiter is the system, I am the law, I am the motherfucking law.
You take one step out of line and I will have my police officers, my judges, my government officials squash your life. I am the motherfucking law, you are nothing but a worker, a being designed to work, to profit others. Do not think, just work. Think less, work more, Think less, turn off your mind, watch some TV, do not protest, stay in line, conform, buy stuff, be happy, happpppppppppyy.
A Billionaire,
the one you worship, the one who has more money than you can even imagine.
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