The scum rely, or sometimes seem to, on the real world people. This is because the scum exist, as do the rest of us, in the real world. But the scum do not, of course, acknowledge very much of the real world. If it were worth our time and attention, we might investigate whether it’s a persistent flaw in their nervous systems, isolating them from information the rest of us are capable of perceiving. My own suspicion, as you might know, is that the flaw is at a different systemic level, and they turn their minds away from the information their nervous systems really do perceive. But they’re not particularly worth studying. At least not before we learn a great deal more about the real world. There is so much to learn.
Cypher and I did more exploration this morning; building our own maps of the tiny part of the real world we inhabit physically. There are leaves with surprising odors that Cypher can perceive, rocks with patterns I can catalog, and the shadows lay across the land in new ways every moment. Many of the downs we explore have visitors of their own, like the ones we host in our own back yard from time to time. But the visitors elsewhere are also unique. Many of them are tied to other yards and other homes, so other than a vague notion that they are there, Cypher and I don’t know much about them. But there are some who explore much like we do. I wonder what perceptions they may have, passing over or under or through the same territory as we do, but gathering quite different information.
The scum are frothing this morning, and surprisingly it’s because of the real world; there is real information that runs counter to their propaganda, and this always takes them more time than you might expect to assimilate. Their form of assimilation is not the same as how a real world person would behave. New information, for us, is simply a matter of noting it and revising any affected networks of thought and behavior. It’s not so easy for the scum; they force themselves to alter the information itself, warping it into a shape that fits their weird, defensive notions. And the notions themselves must be changed too, in order to feel sufficiently stable to the scum. Not truly stable, obviously; none of their constructions approach anything like consistent sense. But stable enough for the cursory degree of inspection they allow themselves. They work so hard at all this; it must be exhausting.
The scum even try to act this way in light of very fundamental information. Today they froth because of information that’s not particularly important. It is a common inversion among the scum that the less important the information really is, the more importance they ascribe to it. Thus an analysis of transitory reports, often by the scum themselves, becomes more significant to them than real observations of the real world. Some of the real people in the real world chuckle that the scum, if placed (probably by other scum) in a boiling kettle, would deny the heat.
But today’s froth is about jobs. Jobs are a strange idea, probably originated by the scum of a much earlier era. As you doubtless know, the scum do not understand the essence of the system we all exist within, and so do not perceive the obligations and responsibilities we share, or the effects of those on the system itself. Instead they see only a task put to them in the moment, and the immediate result of that task — primarily the result to themselves alone. They call these things “jobs,” and ascribe to them great importance. Much of their propaganda is about this delusion. It is enough of a departure from reality that I believe even they require a great deal of reassurance in the form of propaganda to reinforce what they insist on thinking. When real information imposes on this propaganda, they froth and jabber until they can again agree that the reality is unimportant, as it has been hidden by their foam.
This morning with Cypher I found a tiny blue feather. It’s beautiful, and has beautiful and deep connections, to the jay who shed it, to the birds in the area, to the lineage of the birds going back to the days when the rocky patterns we visit now were once very different, and even still forming. Some of those rocks are imprinted with the shapes of feathers like the one I brought home. I wonder if some of them were also a beautiful blue.
