Major Industrialists Flood The Zone

Yesterday, I described the coming of the military into the area, along with thousands of backyard militias, setting up to do the bidding of the Major Industrial Powers (MIP) against the Residential Industrial Movement (RIM). It's probably needless to say, but the vast array of firepower and soldiers standing against us has put a damper on production. Most of our employees, of course, have been scared feceless and have headed for the hills, along with quite a number of residential industrialists.

But I'm still here. A good night's sleep and I'm up, feeling a lot more confident than I was yesterday. I can't say I'm exactly thankful for what's going on; that'd be too strong a word. But it is in those times when push comes to shove that you find out what you're really made of. At first, I thought I was made of mush. But now I'm getting some of my confidence and resolve back. I've been working with some of my sacred swords, my Chinese metal balls, my own smokin' hot interpretations of scripture, and some of Pastor Wadd's sermon notes, and things are much better. Spiritual stuff.

Sacred sword play is a very intense discipline. It's like Tai Chi with props. I've gone into many an other-worldly trance bringing my consciousness to the point in those slow-moving sessions. In case you don't know much about this, there's some joining in consciousness that the sword wielder sees between the sword and his body. The point corresponding to the head and beyond, with the pinpoint accuracy and vanishing point, to say the least is a great confidence builder. I wouldn't trade my swords for all the nuclear bombs in Iran!

The Chinese metal balls have curative powers. One time I got rid of arthritis in my toes simply by sleeping with them in my socks. After a few days, the pain was gone. The worst part, of course, is having to get up in the middle of the night and tripping all the way to the bathroom. Then there's the scriptures, the condensed wisdom of the residential industrialists of the past (Israel) facing the major industrial powers (the Babylonians, Romans, etc.) And finally, there's Pastor Wadd's notes. He's a local guy who specializes in combating sexual addictions. I get quite a bit of good out of reading his wise comments, especially in that afterglow phase when the danger's well past.

You can tell I'm very mellowed out -- much more so than you'd think for someone facing industrial extinction either later today or tomorrow. When they shut down my factory, it'll just give me more time for other things ... and eventually I'll overpower them in some other way...

But I imagine there's going to be something more to it, with the military and militias. Can I just live happily ever after? Yesterday the MIP flooded the zone -- that's my word for it -- by fanning out across the country with thousands of sheriffs issuing zoning violation tickets and process servers bringing notices of legal actions for patent violations, etc. They've no doubt put a lot of work into this, buying off the feds, the state governments, the counties, and right down to the local city councils.

So they're looking to minimize death and damage, probably, but with all these militias -- most of whom are crazy, supporters of Republicans so you know they're dingy -- there's sure to be some violence. One, they want to make a good example of someone, a sufficient number, so we won't ever do this again. I wouldn't be surprised if most of the fighting took place right here locally, since this is where residential industrialism got its start. A local guy, they say, was the philosophical father of the whole movement.

Along with the paperwork being passed out, summonses to appear in court and all the rest, they were already acting against some of the backyard factories, those that were abandoned in the last few days. I went out for a drive last night and saw quite a few shuttered plants. I took a picture of the Spooner vat factory, since it's right up the street. It looks very sad. It was just in July that we helped with Ted's first vat. Those were the good times, in approximately the Silver Age of Residential Industrialism.

I'll see what today brings. At this point, something's definitely got to give. But I'm going to try to keep the faith, keep my single pointedness going, and the other great benefits. I might see the help of a higher power yet! Other than that, I could watch a little TV -- I might get out my Iron King DVDs, since he also faced a lot of crazy stuff in his life and everything always seemed to work out OK for him. Then, who knows? Maybe I'll put on Grandma's old silk kimono and lounge around the house. Have a drink and check out a few magazines or videos. And then read through Pastor Wadd's notes again.

Hail The Conquering Industrialist!

Today's post is a highly personal one, as I buck up my self-image after a day of terrible doubt. Remember yesterday, I envisioned my own passing and that of my blog, as seemed all but certain at some point in the next five billion years.

Of course it seems absurd even to me that something this piddling would set me back. But in fact it did. I think there's something about extremely large numbers, billions of years, that messes up my thinking. You know?

Our thinking -- and I think this is true of other people too -- can be spooked. Because we're so used to thinking in terms of today and tomorrow and Christmas and our next birthday. To suddenly see yourself dead, the entire world destroyed, and your blog ended is different.

So yesterday, through the day, I had a hard time putting it out of my mind, but I did my best. As much as I could, I focused on my current reputation, the boldness I live by, the success I've had, and my life's overall mojo. This became a matter of exaltation, lifting myself in self esteem. As a life coach for others, naturally the saying, "Physician, heal thyself," applies to me.

For this purpose, then, in the exaltation process, I envisioned myself in the greatest terms. I became the embodiment of the conquering industrialist, like the dreaded monarchs of old.

You also can imagine it: There's the parade of the conqueror, leading in his foreign captives, along with the beasts of the foreign countries, and their women. Picture it with me, but remember I said it was highly personal. I have to work on my own personal issues, even if some think it's tasteless to do so in public.

Here comes the conquering industrialist, conquering what exactly? The Major Industrial Powers (MIP), doing his best to take them captive. In cage number one, a big gold cage on wheels, we have MIP executives who have been captured. They're nude, displaying their very small parts, and slumped against the bars. In cage number two, a big silver cage, we have MIP officials, nude, displaying slightly larger parts, angry at the executives for advising them to cut corners, making them susceptible to Residential Industrial Movement (RIM) forces. In cage number three, a big bronze cage, we have MIP underlings, foremen and leadmen, also nude, displaying larger parts yet, angry at the officials and executives for giving them such shoddy leadership that their products turned out inferior and overpriced. And in the last cage, the fourth, a big corrugated cardboard (paper) cage, we have MIP peons, workers, truck drivers, and lunch ladies, all nude, displaying the largest parts, except for the lunch ladies, angry at the underlings, foremen and leadmen, and the officials and executives for implicating them in this massive fraud called the MIP.

In this scenario, I am the conquering industrialist, along with other RIM leaders, distributing whips and cattle prods with which to threaten the MIP captives. But at the last second, in my mercy, I command them to set their weapons down, and release the MIP failures, who take multiple paths out of town. Of course the peon class we would welcome more gladly into the RIM ranks; that goes without saying. And up the line it would go like that, with the MIP executives receiving the most scorn, being passed over for any pencil pushing jobs there might've been. As said, they take various paths out of town.

OK, now put this industrial parade out of your mind. And picture me, consolidating in my own person everything, the best the RIM has to offer. I become larger than life, a colossus, striding over the world, going from victory to victory. I take my place, the red giant sun behind me, even it being dimmed in the effulgence of my glory. I occupy such a position of prominence and pride, like the biblical Herod who became filled with worms and died, the people can't even look upon me for the brightness. "This is not a man," they shout, "but a god." I advise my tribunes, much shorter than I, to plead with the people, that such a conquering industrialist considers the word "god" beneath him. They must do better!

Three graybeards step forward, who have studied theology and depth psychology, and they go into a big clawing death match, scratching and biting. One graybeard falls. The other two bring out cudgels, mallets, and spears, and fight. The larger man has the smaller man down. But the smaller man thrusts a scimitar into the larger man's gut, all quite a surprise to him, I must say. The winner's graybeard red with the others' blood, he proclaims me the master of life itself, knowing how many factories depend on my beneficence.

As to the conquered women I mentioned, they minister to me in private.

Right here, after their ministering, I become fully aware of the phenomenon of 'The Psychic Price,' and I become so small the people can't see me. The women don't know what happened to me. I am suddenly dressed in rags and, unlike Herod, am able even to elude the much larger worms that are on the way to consume me. Notice how great I am! Because this is the stumbling block that gets everyone else! But I am a very small man, dressed in rags, little more than a worm myself!

I pick up a used toothpick, its size in relation to me the size of a huge sword. This now is the conquering industrialist's sacred sword. I turn a corner, unseen by anyone, and run right into a dust bunny. I use the sword, this toothpick, to cut my way through the dust bunny thicket. I'm becoming smaller all the time. I'm so humbled. I'm being blown about in the wind and happen to land on top of a fleeing beggar's sandal. He's running because the whole crowd is running, not knowing what happened to the colossus who had been before them. Even the women wish I'd come back.

But the beggar is looking out for number one. He runs to a place beneath a bridge, where he stays. I'm there, now hiding behind a grain of sand. I hear him thanking his lucky stars that he wasn't trampled. He falls asleep, and I hear him blubbering in his sleep, that God should bless their mighty victor, meaning me. "Keep him safe, snuffle, snore," he says. "Bring him prosperity, snuffle, snore," the beggar prays.

As I hear him pray, I'm increasing in size. Finally, I'm normal sized. And because I have powers, I start a campfire and make the man a decent meal of two eggs, four pieces of bacon, hashbrowns, and pancakes with strawberries, sauce, and whipped cream, which you might recognize as IHOP's current special, the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity, Bacon and Eggs Combo, embarrassing to say but delicious to eat. (I don't actually say it. I just get the waitresses' attention, point at the menu and grunt.)

After a while, the beggar sniffs the air like a horny camel, being very much like a thankful Ali Baba at this point, knowing Allah has sent him the food of the gods, something apparently from IHOP. He looks over and sees me keeping the eggs warm in the fire. I have on a very coarse fiber sack dress, or maybe I should call it a prophet's robe. And a hood. My head is pulled in so he can't see my face. The hood's hole keeps everything very dark within. But when I turn my gaze on him, he's able to see two gleaming lights, my eyes.

I suddenly remember he saved me, turn off my eyes and the darkness within, revealing myself very much a normal man, a humble man. He sputters, "You, you, are you?--" "Yes," I smile, a smile playing across my lips, "I am me. Good to know you, kind beggar."

(Let this be a lesson to you. Sometime in the future you too might see me. Oftentimes, I'm right out in public. But I will be that anonymous person you may not recognize. I could be in the next booth from you in a restaurant. I might be that guy in the library earnestly scanning every magazine they have. When you look over, maybe I'll have my eyes turned on, or maybe they'll be turned off. You never know. In fact, I've done many things in life quite anonymously. The other day I put money in a parking meter; no one around appeared to recognize me; I did it like any other person. But maybe you'll be one of the first, after this beggar, of course, to know it's me. Wouldn't it be great for you to recognize me?)

I tell the beggar to come to my factory. I give him a whitewall tire for his trouble. I take off the prophet's robe and put on my normal clothes. People come by to see me, telling me of incredible dreams they've been having about me and the end of the world. I soothe their frazzled nerves, telling them, "No, as long as I'm in the world, the Earth will be spared."

That is what the conquering industrialist speaks. That is what the conquering industrialist declares is done.