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Re: Why ‘Do What You Love’ Is Pernicious Advice
They remind me of Heinlein, bpr:
Put the same employees in the same bureaucracy in a not-for-profit environment, and the same foot soldiers will punish the smokers just as happily, I'd bet.
For sure, there are petite bourgeois who have gluttonously gulped down their own kook-aid. You're 100% right about that.
I just don't think that's what motivates the foot soldiers.
It's knowing they're controlled...at least knowing it subconsciously...and therefore wanting to punish their subordinates more than they feel they themselves have been punished to compensate. Control. They can't control their own lives, so they feel the need to exert control over parts of others'. And there's no greater 21st century punishment machine than 'the market.' It's what 'god's wrath' of the 17th century was. A giant wood-chipper that promises only pain, dismemberment, and suffering.
That's why they threaten you with losing your job. That's why they drug test you. That's why they test you for cigarettes. That's why they have a key logger to know everything you type. That's why they weigh you. That's why they record all your phone calls. That's why they film you in every room. That's why they invite your family to mandatory work parties. It's not because they care about you. It's not to earn more profit. It's to instill fear without physical presence. The market is siberia. A gulag of the mind. Panopticon. Guaranteed unemployment. Potential homelessness; potential hunger: Muscles and knuckles for fancy little men who are scared to take a punch.
The big monkey beats the medium monkey. The medium monkey cries until it clobbers the little monkey. The little monkey buries its head and weeps.
How 'bout them fat cat teachers unions?
Originally posted by bpr
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They remind me of Heinlein, bpr:
She tossed [a peanut] to a medium sized monkey; before he could eat it a much larger male was on him and not only stole his peanut but gave him a beating, then left. The little fellow made no attempt to pursue his tormentor; be squatted at the scene of the crime, pounded his knuckles against the concrete floor, and chattered his helpless rage. Mike watched it solemnly. Suddenly the mistreated monkey rushed to the side of the cage, picked a monkey still smaller, bowled it over and gave it a drubbing worse than the one he had suffered – after which he seemed quite relaxed. The third monk crawled away, still whimpering, and found shelter in the arm of a female who had a still smaller one, a baby, on her back. The other monkeys paid no attention to any of it.
Mike threw back his head and laughed – went on laughing, loudly and uncontrollably. He gasped for breath, tears came from his eyes; he started to tremble and sink to the floor, still laughing.
“Stop it, Mike!”
He did cease folding himself up but his guffaws and tears went on. An attendant hurried over. “Lady, do you need help?”
“No. Yes, I do. Can you call us a cab? Ground car, air cab, anything. I’ve got to get him out of here.” She added, “He’s not well.”
“Ambulance? Looks like he’s having a fit.”
“Anything!” A few minutes later she was leading Mike into a piloted air cab. She gave the address, then said urgently. “Mike, you’ve got to listen to me. Quiet down.”
He became somewhat more quiet but continued to chuckle, laugh aloud, chuckle again, while she wiped his eyes, for all the few minutes it took to get back to their flat. She got him inside, got his clothes off, made him lie down on the bed. “All right, dear. Withdraw now if you need to.”
“I’m all right. At last I’m all right.”
“I hope so.” She sighed. “You certainly scared me, Mike.”
“I’m sorry, Little Brother. I know. I was scared, too, the first time I heard laughing.”
“Mike, what happened?”
“Jill … I grok people!”
Mike threw back his head and laughed – went on laughing, loudly and uncontrollably. He gasped for breath, tears came from his eyes; he started to tremble and sink to the floor, still laughing.
“Stop it, Mike!”
He did cease folding himself up but his guffaws and tears went on. An attendant hurried over. “Lady, do you need help?”
“No. Yes, I do. Can you call us a cab? Ground car, air cab, anything. I’ve got to get him out of here.” She added, “He’s not well.”
“Ambulance? Looks like he’s having a fit.”
“Anything!” A few minutes later she was leading Mike into a piloted air cab. She gave the address, then said urgently. “Mike, you’ve got to listen to me. Quiet down.”
He became somewhat more quiet but continued to chuckle, laugh aloud, chuckle again, while she wiped his eyes, for all the few minutes it took to get back to their flat. She got him inside, got his clothes off, made him lie down on the bed. “All right, dear. Withdraw now if you need to.”
“I’m all right. At last I’m all right.”
“I hope so.” She sighed. “You certainly scared me, Mike.”
“I’m sorry, Little Brother. I know. I was scared, too, the first time I heard laughing.”
“Mike, what happened?”
“Jill … I grok people!”
For sure, there are petite bourgeois who have gluttonously gulped down their own kook-aid. You're 100% right about that.
I just don't think that's what motivates the foot soldiers.
It's knowing they're controlled...at least knowing it subconsciously...and therefore wanting to punish their subordinates more than they feel they themselves have been punished to compensate. Control. They can't control their own lives, so they feel the need to exert control over parts of others'. And there's no greater 21st century punishment machine than 'the market.' It's what 'god's wrath' of the 17th century was. A giant wood-chipper that promises only pain, dismemberment, and suffering.
That's why they threaten you with losing your job. That's why they drug test you. That's why they test you for cigarettes. That's why they have a key logger to know everything you type. That's why they weigh you. That's why they record all your phone calls. That's why they film you in every room. That's why they invite your family to mandatory work parties. It's not because they care about you. It's not to earn more profit. It's to instill fear without physical presence. The market is siberia. A gulag of the mind. Panopticon. Guaranteed unemployment. Potential homelessness; potential hunger: Muscles and knuckles for fancy little men who are scared to take a punch.
The big monkey beats the medium monkey. The medium monkey cries until it clobbers the little monkey. The little monkey buries its head and weeps.
How 'bout them fat cat teachers unions?
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