A bit of a stretch a few readers will say, to say we sophisticates are savage, but early morning ritual drinking of coffee at home instead of in a comfortable bustling cafe filled with all types moved my mind from scrutinizing the Scandinavian Bronze Age circa 1600 BCE to our Terran Space Age. With 2020 and the global health emergency a long planned, since WW1 say, global coup de main was accomplished on all international existing institutions —including law.
Now we have Monkey Pox. Bill Gates invested in Monkey Pox. Great mana in Monkeys no doubt.
In regards to the savage I am thinking of how the Pandemic was used to both reinforce an existing “magical” cultural order of Technocracy and also create a new one-Biosecurity Technocracy. Essential for this thinking is vaccine mana associated with different nation states existing among the tribes of planet Earth. As with Maoris on New Zealand: magical, religious, and spiritual power came through the hau of gifts. Mauss argues that: ‘Whatever it is, food, possessions, women, children or ritual, it retains a magical and religious hold over the recipient. The thing given is not inert. It is alive and often personified and these gifts are a ‘total social phenomenon’ because they bring with them both personal, economic, social, legal, political, aesthetic, and ideological dimensions. As a global social phenomenon, vaccines are essential as an integral part of individuals’ rites de passage.
The mana of medicine men is well attested to among savages. The cleverest wielders become rogues and charlatans holding populations in control by fear of the invisible made visibly real. Like Demonic possession but better we have viruses, plagues, germ weapons which we do not see. The educated people with bones in the nose agree the danger from the invisible is great. To save all mankind a great boon is given of vaccine. And because the gift is so great you must be injected by force if necessary.
Striking in a sense to understand that civilization is organized savagery.
Repression of War Experience
Now light the candles; one; two; there's a moth;
What silly beggars they are to blunder in
And scorch their wings with glory, liquid flame—
No, no, not that,—it's bad to think of war,
When thoughts you've gagged all day come back to scare you;
And it's been proved that soldiers don't go mad
Unless they lose control of ugly thoughts
That drive them out to jabber among the trees.
Now light your pipe; look, what a steady hand.
Draw a deep breath; stop thinking; count fifteen,
And you're as right as rain ...
Why won't it rain? ...
I wish there'd be a thunder-storm to-night,
With bucketsful of water to sluice the dark,
And make the roses hang their dripping heads.
Books; what a jolly company they are,
Standing so quiet and patient on their shelves,
Dressed in dim brown, and black, and white, and green,
And every kind of colour. Which will you read?
Come on; O do read something; they're so wise.
I tell you all the wisdom of the world
Is waiting for you on those shelves; and yet
You sit and gnaw your nails, and let your pipe out,
And listen to the silence: on the ceiling
There's one big, dizzy moth that bumps and flutters;
And in the breathless air outside the house
The garden waits for something that delays.
There must be crowds of ghosts among the trees,—
Not people killed in battle,—they're in France,—
But horrible shapes in shrouds--old men who died
Slow, natural deaths,—old men with ugly souls,
Who wore their bodies out with nasty sins.
* * *
You're quiet and peaceful, summering safe at home;
You'd never think there was a bloody war on! ...
O yes, you would ... why, you can hear the guns.
Hark! Thud, thud, thud,—quite soft ... they never cease—
Those whispering guns—O Christ, I want to go out
And screech at them to stop—I'm going crazy;
I'm going stark, staring mad because of the guns.