Yes - Chapter Eight
Nationality
Even if you were born on an airplane flying at fifty thousand feet above the middle of the Pacific Ocean, you’ll still have been categorized by the conspiracy, assigned and grouped into your Nation. You didn’t pick it, you can’t quit it, you weren’t old enough to make any kind of sensible choice even if they’d let you but from day one you’re encouraged to take pride in the accident of the country of your birth. What country do you support in the World Cup? Is that because they’re the best? No. You support them because you were assigned to them, because you’ve been trained and duped and suckered by the conspiracy your whole contemptuous desperate life.
What the hell is a nation anyway? Nothing but a socially constructed mind-brace, used to tie up your soul and force you to sacrifice your slack for the CON. Your nation will tax you, it will suppress you with laws and conventions, it’ll even pack you up and send you off to war to fight some other CON nation. You go, of course, because you’re forced to, even though you know that war is by it’s very nature a conspiracy, THE CON writ large.
There’s loads of wars going on right at this minute, hundreds of half-wit grimy dirt-crawling bamboozled cretins shooting and stabbing each other, fighting for some CON excuse, killing over the colours on a map or who they get to bow down to and call Leader or God or whatever, who gets to rob them of their oil. The soldiers on each side have more in common with each other than the conspiracy leaders and movers and shakers pushing the tokens around on a map a hundred miles away from the carnage but they fight for their nation thinking their President would do the same for his countrymen. Meathead simpleton conspiracy dupes like you are jingoistically jousting you way into endless oblivion because some conspiracy fuckwit told them to. You’d think they’d say “screw this Jerry, let’s use these guns to kill them, the bastards that sent us out here, class war not national war.”
But no.
They do let you change your nationality, eventually, if you’re rich enough. But they don’t let you resign them all. There’s no “None Applicable” when it comes to citizenship. Oh, sure, the gigantic immortal corporations are allowed to be multinational, but almost all of the six billion simple-minded dunces on this planet have to sit in the boxes they were given by virtue of what box their parents were in. The truth is though, by the time people are old enough to even try it most of them are so utterly hypnotized, so completely in the conspiracy’s thrall that they wouldn’t change if you paid them.
Your country needs you! Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country! Your country right or wrong!
The conspiracy has a practically endless supply of idiotic clichès training you to think of yourself as part of this imaginary thing. They devalue your individuality and charm, reduce you to a citizen, a member of their CON.
What size territory you decide to pledge your pinheaded loyalty to is pretty much entirely random. The USA is a group of 50 states that are each bigger than most countries on the planet, yet the citizens of Monaco live in a country smaller than London. Some fear the super-state, the federated nation, as if the conspiracy leaders in the federation would be any different to the conspiracy leaders in your local council.
Your nation’s influence on you is incredible, but which nation it is is about as relevant as which brand of toothpaste you use. Your oppressed and tortured by your own co-conspirators whether you’re living under occupation and slavery or the leader of your own principality.