This reminds me of an old joke albeit with a different object . What do you call a dead royal? A bloody good start.
I used to be a royalist. When I lived in Australia I used to argue with the ‘republicans’. It was my contention that a constitutional head of state not needing to rely on populist affirmation in order to keep their position, was less likely to be subject to corruption. If, I maintained, they had everything they needed and much, much more provided without having to strive, they’d be less likely to accept inducements to do another’s bidding. How wrongheaded can a person be?
Leaving aside any allegations that the royal family are members of a shape-shifting alien elite which governs humanity, and going instead with the official history, there is no reason why we, as a people or as people who have individual sovereignty, require a sovereign at all. The lineage of the royal family is one of inbreeding to maintain power and wealth that was stolen by stealth and superior might. We owe them nothing, and the most honest thing ever carried out by this people was the execution of the monarch.
It is important to make clear that I am not in favour of any alternative ‘political’ system. The lie that a ‘democratic’ system is somehow less corrupt or false doesn’t fool me. We are slaves, we are livestock on the farm, as long as we accept any loss of personal sovereignty. Every time we vote for another lying, corrupt official, we are giving away our right to be. Accepting the fact of a ruling elite is selling ourselves short, grieving for the death of a slave master is just plain sick. There’s an expression for that, it is called Stockholm Syndrome.
What has the queen ever done to actually deserve our ‘love’. She was an artificial being, possibly not actually a shape-shifting lizard but a construct for all that. No one could ever have known her, she was not fully human. Loving her is as unreal as having feelings for a film actor, imagining that one knows anything about them from reading stories in the TV magazines. The whole life and existence is made up, they are the entertainment designed to distract us from the power-grab that allowed them to assume such massive wealth and power. It must be a laugh for the royals to see the slavish devotion for them, undeserving creatures who owe their continued life to the illusion that they somehow serve us.
Much as it pains me to say, I think I am an anarchist. Not in the sense that most people say they believe in anarchy which has no form, it is vague and iconoclastic. Most anarchists just want to overthrow everything, they have no idea what will happen then, so, as a result, another corrupt power structure arises with the ‘anarchists’ at the head. My type of anarchy involves every individual taking rigorous responsibility for their personal space, if this were to happen there would be no need for politicians, royalty, elections. If a job needed to be done it would be done. The problem is that as people we have been seduced by the lie that life could be ‘easy’ if we delegate our sovereignty to another. The evidence that this is a lie is overwhelming. When I was a child, there was a TV programme called ‘Tomorrow’s World’ which showcased innovations that were sure to eventuate in some indeterminate future time. The tacit promise was that we would all benefit from these ‘labour saving’ devices and machines, society would be a much nicer place to live.
We have given our lives to these innovations and now we are slaves to them. Any benefit from these devices has gone to our rulers. The expense to own things means that we are even deeper in hock to have the life of luxury that they promise. It is a thing I have come to call Utility Room Syndrome. When I was young no one had a utility room, the utilities were in the kitchen, an outhouse, or were at the laundrette. Now, the utility room is a must have addition in almost every house I have built. People go to extraordinary lengths, often lengths which make no sense, to obtain the space to include a utility room in their house. This is sometimes created at the expense of useful space for living, it is like a mental illness.
To my shame, I have a utility room in my house. It is a very nice thing to have, but in my case it makes sense to have it, there was no other possible use for that area. Even I can hear the bullshit in my rationalisations.
But I don’t vote. These days I take responsibility for myself. Small is beautiful and the rulers are a luxury I don’t want to afford. The queen is dead and, while I don’t actually wish the others were also dead right now, it is my fervent wish that the family disappears back to the other dimension from which they emerged. They may not actually be shape-shifting lizards, but they are about as real in my mind. They have never done anything that couldn’t have been done just as well by someone who is not kept on a pedestal, a real person doing what needs to be done.
The word that she had died emerged sometime during the evening, by 9AM the next day I saw the same poster, in different sizes, in three different and unrelated locations. Perhaps that doesn’t sound weird to someone reading now, but to me, seeing the exact same picture, with the same lettering, in an estate agent’s window in A4, then on a bus stop, then in large poster size in a shopping mall, all within twelve hours of the death being announced, struck me as creepy. OK, I am a ‘conspiracy theorist’ of not quite the worst kind, but I am bound to see stuff where nothing exists so ignore me, but maybe think about it too?
Give away your power if you choose. The fact that this is the norm was obvious during the corona hoax when people fell over themselves to accept the lie about viruses. We were told that there was a mysterious, invisible thing, which we couldn’t detect and we wouldn’t know we were ill. The good news was that ‘they’ could help us. This is the same lie as the one about the ruling class, they know how to keep us safe, and they don’t hesitate to let us know about all the evil that they are saving us from. God forbid we didn’t know everything they do for us, maybe we would start to think we could look after ourselves without their help.
If it is your choice to accept the yoke of slavery, don’t come whinging to me when the weight becomes unbearable. The only thing I will do in that event is remind you that it was always your choice.
The queen is dead, may the king follow soon.