Breed The Secret Design To Maintain Racial Inequality Among The Despised Classes (24 page)

heard of nip?” my guide asked. “Yes,” I replied. “The threshold
guardian told me all about it.” Surprised, my guide inquired,
“Really? Did he tell you that it contains varying amounts of poison
that eventually kills the animal? And that there is an additive
that keeps the animal in a permanent state of heat?” Astonished, I
exclaimed, “No. He didn’t mention that.” I then glanced at my guide
suspiciously, “If you know all of this why don’t you warn them?” I
asked. To my surprise he answered, “They already know. Before they
are allowed to accept the nip they first must endure the
humiliation of acknowledging that they know exactly what the nip
contains and how it will affect their bodies. In this way they are
robbed of the ability to tell themselves that they were tricked.
Their minds are left with the full realization that they chose the
nip of their own free will.” I silently agonized over the cruelty
of this situation. I thought, “It is true that they are the ones
making the decisions. On the other hand, if they refuse the nip how
could they endure these living conditions?” The whole situation
left me with a bad taste in my mouth and I felt thankful that I was
not in a similar situation. As we ventured away from this area a
passing scene caught my attention. The group of young Lumpens I had
seen earlier was again walking in a group but this time the grayish
brown mongrel with the floppy ears was walking a few paces ahead of
the group. They were calling out, “You’re a punk!” and they glared
at him with hatred in their eyes. Every now and again a member of
the group would yell, “Punk!” and give him a shove. He would turn
to defend himself but the entire group bore their teeth and growled
until he turned back around in humiliation. This act of degradation
would cause all in the group to laugh with great pleasure. This
exercise was repeated a few times more before they passed from my
sight. I walked on with my guide until we reached the coliseum.
“You are familiar with the entertainment provided for the Lumpen?”
asked the old dog. “Yes,” I replied, turning my head away from the
place in revulsion. “I know all I need to know about that.” I had
determined within myself never to enter the structure again. Off to
the side of the coliseum a crowd had begun to assemble. My guide
then asked, “And do you know who it is that we Lumpens have to
thank for our various forms of entertainment?” Without hesitation I
responded, “The speciests. Who knows? Probably even the Union of
Animals.” Once again astounding me the old St Bernard shook his
head and said, “No. It’s a Lumpen.” I followed his eyes over to the
crowd that was gathering and I saw the cause of the commotion. The
lean boxer I had seen on the posters the first time I was given a
tour of Lumpenproleteria was standing in their midst. The crowds
gathered around the celebrity as if it were an opportunity not to
be missed. My guide explained, “Leo is seen as a role model by the
entire Lumpen community. The Lumpen hero is the biggest
manufacturer of nip and other forms of entertainment in the area.”
Suddenly as if alerted to our presence the boxer looked beyond his
adoring fans and stared directly at us. The boxer and the old St
Bernard ominously locked eyes. Placing his paw on my shoulder my
guide then said, “We’d better be off.” No sooner did we continue
our trek than I once again saw the group of young Lumpens walking
together. The grayish brown mongrel was happily trotting along side
the group as if the earlier scene had never taken place. He would
fall behind every now and again but he always caught up with the
group and was begrudgingly allowed re-admittance. “What strange
behavior,” I thought to myself. As we walked away from the coliseum
my guide heard something off in the distance and he motioned for
silence. He then directed me to follow him and we hid behind some
brush. No sooner were we hidden than a couple of Cuyamongan guards
marched passed with a Lumpen prisoner in custody. The prisoner
foamed at the mouth and ejaculated a seemingly endless stream of
expletives. Eventually the noisy procession passed on and all was
quiet once again. I looked over at my guide in desperation. He
asked, “Remember what we said would happen if an animal’s mind is
pushed too far? The forms of entertainment fed to the masses give
them a certain worldview. Their behavior becomes predictable which
in turn makes them easy to control. The long-term effects of this
experiment is yet to be seen but already you can find many animals
in Lumpenproleteria that are confused about their identities. Their
minds have been pushed to such extremes that in order to survive it
creates its own reality.” I didn’t want to believe what the old St
Bernard was telling me but from what I had already seen I knew it
was the truth. Flustered I declared, “If this is the price of
domestication, I want nothing to do with it.” My guide gazed at me
sympathetically. “Don’t despair,” he said. “Its not a hopeless
situation.” Now, two things struck me about this reassurance. The
obvious fact is that it seemed contradictory. If ever there was a
hopeless situation I was convinced that this was it. Secondly I was
amazed at the level of selflessness this old Lumpen showed. Here it
was that he was living in these abominable conditions yet he wasn’t
bitter. His biggest concern at the moment was that I not be
overwhelmed with what he was showing me. I exclaimed, “Not
hopeless?” He grinned. “Come on Christopher. I want to show you one
thing more.” As we walked to the final destination on my behind the
scenes tour, my guide explained more about his observations on the
mind. “You see many of the things in life that we view as necessary
rights, actually only serve as distractions. If the average animal
added up the amount of time and energy spent worrying about not
being defrauded he would most likely find, the activity took up the
greater part of his life. If this distraction were removed what
effect do you think it would have on the mind?” I had never thought
about life in that way before. It took me a while to wrap my brain
around this new concept. While I was pondering a Lumpen raccoon
shuffled speedily past us muttering, “In the end you die alone. No
one can help you and you can’t do nuthin to help nobody. All you
worked for vanishes into nuthin.” I was put off by this
distraction. Nevertheless my guide brought my mind back down to
earth by repeating his question. “How do you think the mind would
be affected by suddenly removing these shackles?” I responded, “I
guess the mind would be clearer but I almost can’t picture this
ever happening.” The old dog laughed. “It happens all the time.
Placed under extreme stress and miserable circumstances animals
often have moments of clarity where they can fully understand the
true nature of life better than those whose minds are still full of
distractions.” The old St Bernard’s face suddenly drooped. “The
only problem is that under such conditions no one listens to them.”
Finally we arrived at our destination. From the smell of petroleum
in the air I could tell we were somewhere near the tar pits. There
were a few large trees and a gigantic boulder embedded into the
ground. Leaning against the boulder was a mixed breed dog who
appeared even older than my guide. Despite his age the dog appeared
to be very alert as he sensed our arrival a long way off. At first
glance, the most conspicuous trait in this old dog was the fact
that he only had three legs. He stood upright leaning against the
rock supported only by his one hind leg. His front legs were
crossed on his chest and though he was looking in our direction it
seemed to be his sense of smell that was guiding him. His nose
twitched steadily as we made our approach. When I looked at his
eyes I realized that my first impression was correct. His eyes were
glazed over with a white cloudy membrane leaving him blind. “Whose
there?” he asked in a raspy voice. “Its me,” replied my guide. “And
you’ve brought someone with you? Speak up. I wont bite you without
a good reason. What’s your name?” My guide nudged me so I said, “My
name is Christopher.” “Is that so?” replied the three legged dog.
“I once knew a Christopher who used to spit on the ground every
time his name was mentioned. It is hoped that the habit was
particular to my friend and not a trait inherited with the name.
Please warn me in advance if it is, so I’ll know what to expect the
surrounding ground to be like. In my condition I can’t afford
having slip hazards placed in my way.” My guide chuckled then
gently nudged me. “No sir,” I said. The three of us stood silent
for a while. I appeared to be the only one who felt awkward. I
certainly wasn’t going to be the first one to break the silence.
Despite the titles and achievements I had recently gained I felt a
certain sense of inferiority. Regardless of their social status I
knew that they both knew more about life than I did. Fortunately my
guide was the first to speak. “Christopher and I were discussing
the nature of the mind,” he said. The older dog responded, “That
just happens to be my favorite subject. You see I have come to the
conclusion that I am my mind and my mind is me.” I knitted my brow
in anticipation of some sort of cryptic meaning in these words. The
three legged philosopher continued, “This may seem like an obvious
conclusion to some but believe you me it took a great deal of
sacrifice on my part to be sure. Many animals may say they believe
that they are their own mind but until they’ve made a personal
sacrifice they can never truly be sure.” At this point I began to
think that maybe the old dog’s hard life had taken such a toll on
his brain that his reasoning had long since left him. However out
of respect I continued to listen. “My first sacrifice was my leg.
When I lost it I wasn’t searching for any higher truth. My mind had
been distracted for so long by the monotony of life that truth be
told I really wasn’t made aware that I even had the leg until it
was gone. I tried to get back to the comfortable mental state I was
in before but I was unable to do so. Every awkward limp reminded me
of my loss. It was as if the leg was haunting me as punishment for
taking it for granted. Then I began to ask myself ‘Am I still a
dog? A part of me is gone forever but does that mean that I am no
longer a complete dog?’ This thought obsessed me. It drove me to
the bigger question of ‘what is animal?’ I tried to remember how I
was before the accident. Did I still like the same foods? Did I
have the same desires and maintain the same routines? The answer
was yes. Nothing changed except now instead of four legs I have
three. Having settled this question I hoped I would now be able to
move on with the rest of my life. But unfortunately this was not
the case. My mind was not satisfied. I began to wonder ‘if I could
withstand the loss of one of my members and still remain an animal,
how much could be sacrificed and this remain true? If I am not my
leg, what am I?’ After many imaginary amputations I finally arrived
in the vicinity of where I believed the answer to reside.” The old
dog tapped his head with a withered paw. “Without a head I felt I
could definitively state that I am no longer an animal. I must be
my brain. For years this answer satisfied me until something
happened that disrupted my peace. A part of my head began to
deteriorate. Gradually my eyes stopped working. You’re probably
thinking ‘why would this upset you? You already concluded that you
are your brain, not your eyes?’ Well that’s true. Nevertheless my
mind began to obsess once again over the accuracy of my
conclusions. I began to think of the many animals in
Lumpenproleteria that I knew personally whose brains had been
damaged to the point of no longer working properly. Were they still
animals? They had brains but their condition was the same as if
they had none. I decided that I needed to amend my findings. It
wasn’t just the possession of a brain that constitutes a being as a
living animal. It is the mind, which resides somewhere inside the
brain. Once my mind is gone…don’t ask me where it goes because I
have no idea. But once my mind is gone I firmly believe that I
cease to be an animal. Therefore, I am my mind and my mind is me.
Do you disagree with my findings? I’m always open to new ideas.” My
guide replied, “No. I’m satisfied with your findings.” He then gave
me a gentle nudge. I replied, “Yes…I mean no. I don’t disagree with
your findings either.” The truth be told the old three-legged
philosopher had succeeded in losing me in his abstract labyrinth.
As we took our leave of the sage Lumpen I was now left with a
definitive impression that the answer to my problems lay somewhere
in Lumpenproleteria. After walking a number of paces with my new
mentor I became impatient to find out the answers that I was sure
he must know. He seemed to know everything. I reached over and
gently gripped his old rough paw and pleaded, “Tell me what to do.”
He smiled warmly and apologetically said, “I’m sorry Christopher.
It doesn’t work that way. Only you can make the right decision. No
one can make it for you.” I have to admit I was disappointed but
something told me that the old St Bernard was right about this. He
was always right. I said, “Well I hope I make the right decision.
I’ve already made so many wrong decisions I think I’m about due for
the right one.” My new mentor laughed. “For what its worth I have
complete confidence in you. Now about the matter concerning your
missing friends, you might try looking over by the
Lumpenproleterian Valley near the area they call Surface Zero. New
faces always seem to be appearing in that area.” Surprised I
responded, “Thanks! I’ll do that.” I was overjoyed. In reality I
had all but given up hope of ever seeing my friends again,
especially after witnessing Hector’s fate.

After taking my leave of the old St Bernard I
anxiously headed toward the Lumpenproleterian Valley. Along the way
I witnessed a scene that was disturbing to say the least. A large
full-grown golden striped tabby was standing with a miniature
version of himself pressed up against a tree. The large cat who I
assumed was the father was striking the kitten in his frightened
little face and screaming at him, “Hit me back! Go on hit me! If
you don’t hit me I’ll knock your head off!” He would then position
his face at eye level to the kitten waiting to be struck. The
kitten however, terrified out of its wits just stood up against the
tree crying. The scene touched my sense of injustice to the quick.
It reminded me of my childhood and how I’d suffered. The larger
cat, noticing that I had been staring disapprovingly at his actions
suddenly turned to me and began shouting, “What are you looking at?
This is my son! This is the way my dad raised me and the way his
dad raised him! If it was good enough for me its good enough for
him!” He pointed at the frightened kitten. Suddenly a bizarre look
of pride seemed to appear on his face as he said, “One day my son
will pass on the tradition to his children.” Then without warning
his look of pride transformed into a look of resentment and he
turned to continue beating his son. This event left me a little
dismayed as I continued on my way. This is probably the reason I
found myself walking into a sparsely populated area that I had
never been before. I decided to stop and try to get my bearings
when unexpectedly a sound caught my attention from among the
shadows of a vine cluster. “Pssst,” came the sound. I cursed my
curiosity as I reluctantly walked towards the shadows. A large
silhouette in the shape of a dog stood before me. A deep voice
issued from the silhouette. “Are you Christopher? I thought it was
you I spotted earlier talking to that old fool.” Suddenly the
figure emerged from the shadows and towered over me. It was Leo the
champion gladiator. “I want to offer you a rare opportunity,” he
said. “I want to offer you independence. You exert your energy to
try and bring about change for the common animal and what has it
gotten you? Nothing but grief. What you fail to realize is that the
game is fixed. It doesn’t even matter which side you choose. They
will take from you all that you have to give and then they will
throw you away.” At once I remembered what the old St Bernard had
said to me about my personality and the type of attention I
attract. I asked, “And what type of independence can you secure
me?” The boxer replied, “I can offer you keys to a world that
exists beyond the realms of nature. The rules that apply to other
animals wont apply to you. You will be able to go wherever you want
and have whatever you want.” Suspicious I asked, “And what would I
have to do in order to receive these keys?” Leo’s eyes widened and
he smiled. “I’ll start you off distributing nip and we’ll see how
you do. Once you prove yourself, the sky is the limit.” To his
dismay I turned to walk away saying, “No thanks. I’d rather be part
of the solution than a part of the problem.” Taken aback the boxer
exclaimed, “Wait!” and reached out his paw. He then began laughing.
“I underestimated you. You’re not like any of the other animals I
have working for me.” He then paused and began staring at me in a
strange and intense manner. Finally he said, “I want to offer you a
partnership. I currently own all of the breeding houses in
Lumpenproleteria and a majority stake in the coliseum. I believe
that you and I are the same. We see beyond what appears on the
surface of society. It’s not about the material things. It’s about
knowing the truth and rising above it. It’s about recognizing that
those of the upper classes, who smile and praise you to your face,
secretly despise you. It’s about having the ability to smile in the
faces of those who look up to you and see you as a role model while
at the same time secretly despising them for their inability to see
things as clearly as we do. Join me Christopher. Let’s build an
empire together.” Again the boxer extended his paw with confidence
that this time I would grip it. To his astonishment I refused his
offer saying, “You and I are nothing alike. You claim not to care
about being despised by the upper classes as long as you have fame
and fortune but I don’t think this is true. I think secretly you
believe that they are justified in despising you. How could they do
any less when you despise yourself?” As I was saying these words
the dog began to gnash his teeth and his eyes began to become
bloodshot. I noticed this with alarm but I wasn’t quite finished
with him. I continued, “You have the nerve to despise those poor
ignorant animals that look up to you? They are ten times the animal
you pretend to be. Their biggest blunder is that they deceive
themselves into seeing you as a role model instead of seeing you
for what you really are and that’s…” That’s as far as I got before
the infuriated canine exploded after me barking uncontrollably. “I
must have hit a nerve,” I thought as I ran for my life out of the
dangerous area. After doubling back and making a number of turns I
finally hid under a pile of dry leaves. I could hear my pursuer run
furiously past my hiding place. I resolved to remain there
undetected until I could catch my breath. After a long period of
stillness I emerged from my hiding place and discovered that I was
not too far away from The Lumpenproleterian Valley.