harm can a radio do?rnWliat harm comes to the souls of our TY-mesnrerizedrnchildren?rnShall thev not shine as the lube’srnbilious glow in the night?rnYet we arc healthy, you tell us, and plump with our plentifulrndinners.rnJunior executives spendrntriple the national wage,rnsending their dear ones, poisoned by fake foods, pale,rnto the doctors.rnHospitals blossom with illsrnstrange to a primitive tribe.rnCancer, the greatest bonanza in medical history! Surgeonsrnclip out the tumor, awarerntumors will sprout in its place.rnX ras, causes of cancer, are used on the cancerous patients—rnsafely—protected bv law.rnPaupers arc spared and can diernanguished, excluded from medicine’s TV-advertised marvels.rnDoesn’t that idiot boxrngive an’ pleasure at all?rnMillionaires, watching the crooks on it fight for a few hundredrnthousand,rnseeing a man lav downrnlife for their gains in a week,rnsurch experience great satisfaction. Perhaps the producers,rnmillionaires also, producernprograms to warm their own hearts.rnThat would be natural. Thev were rewarded for civilizedrnirtue.rnAvarice shoots on the screen,rnbringing the message to all.rnThat’s why our management-market economy’s going tornpieces.rnPatsies were alwavs rec[uircd,rnlubricants for the machine,rnnice guys, Negroes, and Osteopaths, who were given too little,rncheated, content with their skills.rnWho needs them or their skills?rnI.jOud boys, aimlessh stoning the dead bat kite on thernplayground,rnshow what our games have become.rnSkill is irrelevarrt now.rnNow as my country continues its long, slow lapse into empire,rncitizens learn to forgetrneven their citizenship.rnSelfhood triumphs, and man is released from his dirtyrnsurroundings,rnfreed from the dance of his tribe,rnstumbles at last on himself.rnThat is the ultimate specialization: a man on his island,rn”doing his thing,” unawarernothers are shriveling too.rnBack in the Nineteenth Century sclfliood swept to its heydav;rnman mo’ed into his own.rnwaltzed with himself and his love.rnTies of the minuet loosened, the fetters of custom and reason.rnBeautiful sentiments swelledrnup in his billowing heart,rnwhich, like a stock-market bubble, exploded. Hystericalrnpieces,rnswept from the analyst’s couch,rncry in his crumbling verse.rnPrimitive fantasies, lusts, and his Freudian Id havernobsessed him;rnsavages dance in his dreamsrnnever discovered on earth.rnWherefore the misery? Why thus maddened andrnmelodramatic?rnIf there’s no “me” anymore,rntherefore is gaiety dead?rnIt was a silly identity, only our vanities needed.rnThey can survive on their own,rndeep indestructible rock,rnskeletal, fixed in our warm earth, propping our softer behavior.rnMillions may shrivel to dust,rnvanities never can die.rnWhen the deterioration of consciousness reaches its climax.rnProgress, where will you go—rnwhat can occur after that?rnWhat’s more important to people, themselves or a worid theyrncan relish?rnThose unayvare of themselvesrnmost arc aware of the world.rnMountains were mountains at first, say the Buddhists, andrnprimitive huntersrnstalked in them. Then men dreamedrnmountains no longer yvere real,rnonly their thoughts and their confident sclfliood. Then, sayrnthe Buddhists,rnself-dreams wither and fail:rnmountains are mountains again.rnMao Tse-tung thought primitives communists; from themrnhave issuedrnfeudalists, keepers of slaves;rncapitalism from these.rnThen revolution, the last age: man comes back to therncommune.rnAm 1 not mad to repeatrnnonsense of Buddhists and Mao?rnWhy do I fondle such nasty and naughty opinions? Myrnmotherrnthinks it’s because I was droppedrnout of her belly too soon,rncausing, along with some pills she had taken, irreparablerndamage.rnI was unyvanted just then:rnfather yvas planning a trip.rnTrips, as he loved to explain, yvere the symbol and acmernof progress.rnNoyyadays birth pills haltrnbabies that get in its way.rnProgress, never again need your enemies grow into manhood.rnSirrah, my fight with you nowrnstarted before I was born.rnlUNE 1995/29rnrnrn