"work" is the absolute worst kind of submission. No wonder being bound to a wage used to be considered something shameful and embarrassing. You're trading your unrecoverable lifeblood and time for a fraction of the profits of a vampiric egregore and it's ball-sucking sycophants.
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Being home today with my wife, sleeping later, drinking coffee together in bed, enjoying ourselves and a nice summer day - there is no "price" this is worth, no amount of cash. The two things are of incomparable character.
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To be forced to trade one for the other on pain of the collapse of my likelihood and the resulting consequences is a critical indictment of life.
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To be clear, there's no problem with effort being needed to satisfy the material requirements for life - that's a holy process. It's just that the manner we do it in is profoundly sick and depressing.
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I can imagine being on my deathbed and looking back in utter horror at the lost days. Is it any wonder that the more one becomes aware of what has real value that both his ability to tolerate his slavery and his will toward civilizational destruction increases?
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