Asylum,

Many times in my life I’ve been wondering how possibly could some people within the Working Class, though constantly oppressed, be so wicked.

It has never made sense to me, truly.

It derives perhaps from the fact that, in the matter of fact all Working Class member dreameth to become part of the middle class, which themselves, desire more than anything else be part of the elite also known as “the Excrements made human”.

It’s easy. If both the Working-Class and the middle-class unite, we win the world. But the middle-class has always be so keen on licking the crumble that the EMH let go off with great resentment (for instance during the “universal suffrage, for man ONLY I forgot to mention until the humankind made sense at last). It took them a lot of time before they finally realized what they really are, a debts-ridden delusional class.

The middle-class is dead, so much that they created a sort of new term to fit the leftovers status they have now; the “lower” middle-class.

How cool is that!

The EMH, (sigh) I’ve got a lot a things to talk about. But first I’d like to share with you what ebuffles me with the Working-Class. Yet, by writing that I realized that I was accepting the grammar of the rich by blaming the poor, while in fact

People are, how much they are oppressed.

The second truth is that,

Human are wicked by nature, but the oppressed have even better reasons to be so.

Some days my household felt like an asylum. From the guy who wakes us all at 9AM a Sunday morning to make sure the whole world knew he had a brand new iPad. To the guys who share a room but who made a ritual consisting in letting the door open and shouting in the corridor. To of course, the habit of many to work, go home and drink. To I almost forgot the guy (or guys) who wanted to empower himself with a clumsy reenactment of cupboard colonialism, emptied my shelf, put his things on it, took my place in the fridge, and (maybe it’s the same person) used half of my sweet & sour sauce and then left it there. I mean, half of it! Why don’t you even make it disappear like it had vanished, because, well, when a pot is left unopened and that the next day half of it has vanished, chances are that, although I did not read or watch the Millennium saga, anyone can have enough acumen to deduce that somebody “opened” the pot and “then”, in his supreme benevolence left the remaining half on display for the whole word to see. Hold on, on second, does it make sense? And I don’t even talk about my sunflower oil bottle and my salt which, if I happened to forget it downstairs (for I have to keep it from its assailants in my room) mystically evaporates “itself”.
They are plenty other things like letting your dirty underwears hanging here and there etc but each time I’m facing this phenomena I hear this ringing in my head like a cereals commercial jingle “pathology, pathology, pathology” each of these actions can be a case study for the sack of psychoanalysis.

Each action has a meaning, or at least psychoanalytic implications.

I do feel like in a asylum, a closed place where oppressed people live for they are oppressed and can go nowhere else. We are forced to live in tiny rooms and to work without ever enjoying life. So we snap. Collectively. I’m not blaming you, no. But the oppressors shall have their rewards.

Uprise

Love for the oppressed,
It requires understanding and compassion.

PB

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