Aeturnal Narcosis
10th October 2006, 23:31
I wrote this originally in highschool in AP Euro - turned it in for extra credit... freewriting on history...
a while ago, i sent it via e-mail to the CPUSA hoping it would be reprinted in the Peoples' Weekly World, but, as far as i know, it hasn't been...
Who are we?
Indeed a good, simple question, but unfortunately with no simple answer. We are everybody, yet paradoxically we are nobody.
They don't know who we are, nor do they care to know who we are or care to even know that we exist, for that matter, despite our importance in the continuation of their luxurious lifestyles.
Who are we?
We are the nonexistent in their world. We are the might and power unseen, shackled without charge, never considered for extrication from chains of modern slavery.
If the world is the carriage, we are the oxen.
We are the working class majority, the enslaved many, the hordes oppressed by lies, inequality, exploitation, and most of all, their deaf ears upon which our struggle falls like grass under the boot.
We are the workers, the sore backs that preserve the spin of the world.
Who are we?
We are that on which every aspect of civilization relies for sustenance. We are the dusty, bleeding hands, overripe with battle wounds, cradling the puddle of blood that we bled, the same blood that is the essence of economy.
We are the workers, the hands that harvest, that operate, the hands that make the products. We make the packages and wrap the products into them, then we load the packages into semi-trailers that we built from steel that we refined from iron ore that we dug from the earth's crust. We haul these products across endless stretches of concrete that we paved in massive vehicles that we built run by powerful diesel engines that we build and service. These mighty engines are fueled by overly expensive gasoline that we refined in colossal distilling mechanisms that we built; gasoline refined from oil that we pumped through rigs that we built and maintain with tools that we made in metal fabrication plants that we built and operate. Once those packages reach their warehouses, which we built, we unload them from the trailers and distribute them to their destinations, stock these products onto shelves in super markets and department stores that we built, maintain, and operate. Then, with money that we printed, we buy the products at inflated, unjust prices to make profit for people who didn't lift a finger during the whole operation, people who never see to it that the aching backs and sore muscles responsible for their huge incomes are nourished and appreciated.
And we get up at the break of dawn everyday to do it all over again whilst they sleep comfortably in their unearned luxury, ensuring their luxury can continue, for no other reason than our own bare-minimal survival, the one penny each day that is more than what we need to make it to the next day.
Who are we?
We are the workers.
We are the silenced majority. They don't see us, they don't hear us, and they don't care that we exist.
But why should they? So long as they never have to roll up their sleeves and wade knee-deep into the muck and grit that is our lives, so long that they don't have to take part in the exploit-toil that keeps their lives comfortable.
As long as the fruits of our labor are on the table to nourish them, why should they care that we exist and that we cry for change, peace, justice, and equality and equal prosperity for all.
Who are we?
We are those who ensure their fat pay has come on time every day for countless generations. We are those who do not exist in their world, those who have no reason to exist in their world, and those who will never be appreciated nor recognized for generations to come lest that life of luxury they take for granted ceases to exist.
We are their cradle.
We are the future.
i personally think it's worthy of the PWW... but maybe not
any suggestions?
a while ago, i sent it via e-mail to the CPUSA hoping it would be reprinted in the Peoples' Weekly World, but, as far as i know, it hasn't been...
Who are we?
Indeed a good, simple question, but unfortunately with no simple answer. We are everybody, yet paradoxically we are nobody.
They don't know who we are, nor do they care to know who we are or care to even know that we exist, for that matter, despite our importance in the continuation of their luxurious lifestyles.
Who are we?
We are the nonexistent in their world. We are the might and power unseen, shackled without charge, never considered for extrication from chains of modern slavery.
If the world is the carriage, we are the oxen.
We are the working class majority, the enslaved many, the hordes oppressed by lies, inequality, exploitation, and most of all, their deaf ears upon which our struggle falls like grass under the boot.
We are the workers, the sore backs that preserve the spin of the world.
Who are we?
We are that on which every aspect of civilization relies for sustenance. We are the dusty, bleeding hands, overripe with battle wounds, cradling the puddle of blood that we bled, the same blood that is the essence of economy.
We are the workers, the hands that harvest, that operate, the hands that make the products. We make the packages and wrap the products into them, then we load the packages into semi-trailers that we built from steel that we refined from iron ore that we dug from the earth's crust. We haul these products across endless stretches of concrete that we paved in massive vehicles that we built run by powerful diesel engines that we build and service. These mighty engines are fueled by overly expensive gasoline that we refined in colossal distilling mechanisms that we built; gasoline refined from oil that we pumped through rigs that we built and maintain with tools that we made in metal fabrication plants that we built and operate. Once those packages reach their warehouses, which we built, we unload them from the trailers and distribute them to their destinations, stock these products onto shelves in super markets and department stores that we built, maintain, and operate. Then, with money that we printed, we buy the products at inflated, unjust prices to make profit for people who didn't lift a finger during the whole operation, people who never see to it that the aching backs and sore muscles responsible for their huge incomes are nourished and appreciated.
And we get up at the break of dawn everyday to do it all over again whilst they sleep comfortably in their unearned luxury, ensuring their luxury can continue, for no other reason than our own bare-minimal survival, the one penny each day that is more than what we need to make it to the next day.
Who are we?
We are the workers.
We are the silenced majority. They don't see us, they don't hear us, and they don't care that we exist.
But why should they? So long as they never have to roll up their sleeves and wade knee-deep into the muck and grit that is our lives, so long that they don't have to take part in the exploit-toil that keeps their lives comfortable.
As long as the fruits of our labor are on the table to nourish them, why should they care that we exist and that we cry for change, peace, justice, and equality and equal prosperity for all.
Who are we?
We are those who ensure their fat pay has come on time every day for countless generations. We are those who do not exist in their world, those who have no reason to exist in their world, and those who will never be appreciated nor recognized for generations to come lest that life of luxury they take for granted ceases to exist.
We are their cradle.
We are the future.
i personally think it's worthy of the PWW... but maybe not
any suggestions?