Manifesto: The EA Liberation Front
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
-—
Sabbaths XI.
New come, we took fields
from the forest, clearing, breaking
the steep slopes. And this was
a fall from a kind of grace:
from the forest in its long Sabbath,
dependent only upon
the Genius of this place,
… to the field
dependent upon us, our work,
and our failure first and last
to keep peace between
the naked soil and the rain.
From the laws of the First Former
we fell to the place deformed.
The hard rains fell then
into our history, from grace
to fate upon our gullied land.
Excerpted from Wendel Berry, “The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” (1991) and “Sabbaths” (2011).
Too real.
I never thought my username would become relevant to Onion articles.
Manifesto: The EA Liberation Front
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
-—
Sabbaths XI.
New come, we took fields
from the forest, clearing, breaking
the steep slopes. And this was
a fall from a kind of grace:
from the forest in its long Sabbath,
dependent only upon
the Genius of this place,
… to the field
dependent upon us, our work,
and our failure first and last
to keep peace between
the naked soil and the rain.
From the laws of the First Former
we fell to the place deformed.
The hard rains fell then
into our history, from grace
to fate upon our gullied land.
-—
Excerpted from Wendel Berry, “The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” (1991) and “Sabbaths” (2011).
Too real.
I never thought my username would become relevant to Onion articles.