I imagine I am not branded by culture.
That I was not pulled out of the nature’s womb.
Naked. Vulnerable.
Burnt with the filthy mark, the delusional idea, the illusion of humanity.
Spanked. Registered. Blessed and baptised.
Registered and incorporated.
I imagine there is no default setting.
No preset values.
I imagine there is no evaluation.
No ascertainments.
I imagine I watch some humans burning plastic.
And there would be no compulsion to judge,
to name and claim my default supremacy.
The first value and power of culture is supremacy.
“My (cultural) territory is better than yours.”
Culture is war.
War is culture.
I imagine I would not empty-headed consult my hegemony of descent.
Why they, the others, do that, why these subhuman beings do THIS,
what we have overcome already, what WE have proven wrong, nonsense, and non sequitur.
What we have shared to the world already, out of cynical generosity.
Why they hold us back.
Why they don’t do it our way, my way.
Why they have to be different, hold us back, and eventually will destroy us!
Why they can not just subordinate!
It would make things so much easier.
Right.
And from this default I have to fight, every time, each feeling of disgust.
To deconstruct, tear apart my cultural blindness and resultant parochialism.
To reach empathy.
Culture is toxic waste, and the strongest leverage of lobbying.
Imagine there is no human concept of culture.
I would not ask myself why, but I would ask why, to understand how my perception and empirical model does fit in, not to improve, not to change, but to grow, not personally, not financially, not for power, but for understanding.
There would be instant compassion instead of default ignorance.
And communication would search for alliance and not to teach the tribe a lesson.
Subculture is dead.
The throne of metaculture shall burn!