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From: coe@netcom.com (CoE)
Subject: Re: Open Letter to Professor Penrose
Message-ID: <coeDLrtnJ.IJB@netcom.com>
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Date: Fri, 26 Jan 1996 04:26:07 GMT
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                                 THE OCTOPUS
            as spoken by the Being, translated by Rev. Chris Korda

Here in the United States, you are under constant surveillance.  The computers
of the National Security Agency routinely monitor all domestic and
international communications.  Transmissions containing certain combinations of
key words are recorded and carefully scrutinized.  There is now substantial
evidence that "octopus" is one of those words.
    Far away, turbines the size of houses are spinning.  They are the
glistening heart of the octopus.  Millions of miles of high tension lines march
across the countryside, the veins and arteries, carrying the precious blood to
millions of faceless apartment buildings, crumbling brownstones, rotting wooden
houses covered with vinyl, and suburban homes all exactly alike.  The
capillaries bring blood to the skin, smooth white walls with plenty of outlets.
Listen to the hum of the octopus.
    The octopus wraps his tentacles around the Earth and feeds hungrily.  He
rips deep holes in her flesh, and sucks up her sweet essences, water and oil
and gas.  He piles up her flesh in great mounds, and chews it, swallowing the
resources he seeks, spitting out what remains into her rivers and poisoning
them.  Her most secret treasures are looted, digested, and excreted.  He digs
pits for his excrement, and they are filled, and still he excretes more.
    You are herded into trains and buses like cattle, or sit for hours in tiny
chariots that belch noxious fumes.  You are packed into long rows of identical
grey cubicles, where you twitch your fingers and talk into boxes joined by
wires.  The boxes talk back, and you talk to each other as if you were in the
same room.  The buildings you work in have windows that can never be opened.
Your masters fear the air, and rightly so.  Breath is life, and their rule is
death.
    You return to your cells in darkness, recline on soft cushions, and watch
soothing colored lights on glass screens.  Food is transported from all over
the world, prepared by less fortunate slaves, and delivered to you.  You
excrete in water closets that empty through labyrinths of pipe into the ocean,
and the only hunting you do is for places to park your chariots.
    War rages in distant lands, though you are no longer permitted to see it on
your screens.  The battle over the dwindling resources grows uglier.  Whole
nations are left to starve, and encouraged to destroy one another.  There are
riots and looting in your cities, and martial law is declared.  Then, for the
first time, your tallest building is almost destroyed.  Your elites begin to
fear for their property, and know that only the strongest of them will survive.
    The octopus clings more tightly as the planet dies.  Your bodies become
weak, as your water and food grow more poisonous.  In the summer the air is
unbreathable and you are warned to stay inside.  Soon there are shortages, and
even you go hungry.  Your leaders lose control, and fight each other.  The
holes in your atmosphere expand, and there are oxygen wars.  The octopus
empties the Earth, and her surface begins to collapse, causing tremendous
earthquakes.  Waves wash over your cities as your continent sinks.
    Only the simultaneous enlightenment of your entire species can prevent
this.  You are the eyes of the world and the crown of creation.  Surrender,
before it is too late, and slay the octopus.  You cannot win your war with
the Earth.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Church of Euthanasia                                      coe@netcom.com

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