Choice: A primer, and why context chooses not you.


Most men will say all one is his choices. You have heard this before. It lies at the root of reward and punishment, success and failure, yet what most of you may not have heard about, is that there is more to choosing than simply A vs B. The wonderful thing about mathematics, formulas, division, fractions, is that the numbers never lie. The equation a+b=b+a is the same in france as it is on the moon. It doesn’t matter if you are 3 or 65, the formula is the formula. Numbers are truth. There are no stories behind them, no fancy makeup, mirrors, vaginas, assholes, dollar signs, guns, rewards points, or other such distractions. But what would you think if all of a sudden someone came up with a rule, that every time someone was in a room with more than 15 people, the formula a+b=bxa? Or if after midnight, the equation became a+b=axbxc?

People are creatures of habit, at least they are and have been for quite some time now. They have gotten used to many things that they take for granted in their lives, be it school, food, money, medicine, and what they are. They have grown up and have been told what the purpose is for each one of the previously mentioned things, as well as have those definitions reinforced in the world, by media, parents, other people who take those things for granted, and by this culture growing up around commonly accepted definitions and meanings of things, no one questions what those things really are, as what they are told they are merely gets passed from one generation to another. When the main parts of one’s learning (programming), health (poisoning), and livelihood (waste of time), are all dictated to him, as well as his life’s needs, and what his purpose is on earth (ie, nationalistic, obedience, emotional, happy, relaxed, productive, a good citizen), then as he furthers his life, he continues to build his future based on those things as his foundation. His choices, as they are called, all are an outgrowth and are interconnected to the context he has allowed himself to be placed into.

Let’s use an example: One of the most common examples here on rathbonezvizionz has always been that of the negro, so let’s not keep mathematics and skewed numbers from us using our little black barbarian, and viewing how he uses choice, as well as how he has let context dominate his servile life. There are hardly any stand alone negroes that I know of, meaning, blacks that do their own thing, care not for their cultural elasticity that stretches throughout every situation and is weighed down with bitterness, emotion, torture, humiliation, and prevents them from getting on with their lives. There could be the most independent african american, african european, african australian, whatever the fuck they call themselves nowadays (nigga?), and he could not give a shit about the world, whites, indians, or what not, but I guarantee if I walked up to him and called him a fucking piece of shit nigger, then we would see context come into his choices he was about to make. Immediately all the relevance of the word, that hateful name, that stabbing name, would race through his mind, reverberate throughout his muscles, send pictures to his eyes of mississippi burning, blacks hanging from trees, martin luther jr preaching of his dream, where all kids, black and white would be all forced to go to the same governments schools, all brainwashed at the same institutes (or was he talking of the unemployment lines?), rosa parks making a big deal out of buses, or maybe even Riley Cooper at  kenny “im a faggot” chesneys concert? I don’t know, but the word, whom many blacks, unless it hadn’t been ground into their heads by the media, their friends, parents, wouldn’t have all these false images in their heads about what this word means, and they would be rubber and the name would bounce harmlessly off them. Thus the choice this jigger has, isn’t a choice that befalls upon him, because nigger doesn’t even speak to him, but it speaks to what his ancestors were, speaks to a past, not a present, not a him, thus every time he hears this word, it is a code word, a hypnotists magic word, that upon hearing it, turns him into a rageful maniac, full of tears, broken english, and retorts such as “honky,” and “cracka,” and sideways gun shots.

Sure, each is grown up and told a history of his people, of his nation, of the earth, so that he can have his existence placed into a what? Context. Why is it that we want our lives placed into a context? Why is it that I would want to know about this societal context that i am being squeezed into, this giant pen of rules, illusions, lies, authority, power, fear, submission,  and meaninglessness? Who can these societal zombies ever hope to be, become, if they are defined and told what they are before they have had the time to find out for themselves? Why is it that blacks have to grow up to be niggers, all of them, over and over, year after year? Is it because their parents are dependents, feel sorry for themselves, go around and have five babies with four different daddies, send their kids off to schools, all the while they are the ones who educate their children on how to become and what to be, through their actions, through their illogical ways of corresponding with the planet, with others, with their contextual reality? What are the choices the young little black man has when he is three, four, ten, twelve? Well, let’s see: He has to see his bitch of a mom everyday, who just wants money, bottom line. She yells at him, or she praises him, or she is off getting fucked, so she does nothing for him. This child never learns to read, or at least not how to read thought-provoking, contemplative, mind-strengthening texts. He hangs out with other little kids in his neighborhood, like a bunch of outcast ants, whose clan had all been stepped on and rendered useless to them, so they must scrap together and build their own little hill, but all it becomes is a pile of dirt with a few holes in it, because they do not understand leadership, the value of innovation, or how to separate their selfs from the crowd. They have never been told that meaning is individual, not a collective thing, and in order to become a truly alive being, one must search out this meaning with the only tool he can harness unlimited power with: his mind. He is sent to school, and is “taught” by a lady who merely sees the same bunch of black kids again in her class this year, the same bunch of unteachables she see every year, so she dumbs down the curriculum, uses force over intellect, and hopes that if she can’t teach them anything, she hopes they will learn one thing why they are in her class, authority. And the illusions in the young black man’s life, endless, hopeless, for image after image portrays him as nothing but a caricature that he must emblazon upon his chest, whether it is rappers, drug dealers, or hopeless dependent, he cannot ever achieve without finding the self hidden beneath all the bullshit that is heaped upon his back.

The black man isn’t the only one with context though, we all have it, we are all products of this diametrically disorganized diagonally discobobulated deformed drugged up world. Choice? Red light, 3 am, plain jane in her honda accord 4 cylinder automatic, wanting to go right, but the sign above says, “No turn on red.” She hasn’t been drinking, but she still thinks to herself, even if fleeting, “I would be breaking the law, and could get pulled over if I turned right here, even though there is no one around.” She doesn’t even acknowledge that she is such a piece of shit, such a loser for letting a sign dictate her CHOICE, because she has no clue that the context she has placed herself into, the society, one she enjoys, because she is “free,” dictates her choices for her. Sure, she could turn on that red light, and may even do it, but only after she has already stopped and looked around a bunch of times like a scared little bunny rabbit getting ready to cross a swamp full of gators. And if she CHOOSES not to turn, she puffs her chest out believing that the choice she made is one of the good guys, one that makes her a good citizen…

Money, this is the stuff that really makes the world go round, and it didn’t take long for a bunch of guys a long time ago to figure this shit out. Context: You got some, you have more “choices,” you don’t, you can’t do shit. Ask the girl who worked at McDonald’s about how the context of money, responsibility, and being a good girl and not questioning authority, can make one do the darndest things? Suck dick bitch or you’re fired! Strip, do what we say! Now, because she had been brainwashed the same as the rest of you, she questioned in her mind if sucking an old man’s dick naked in the office because a cop told her too, wasn’t the right thing to do, and why not do it if it meant she got to keep her lush 8 dollar an hour job that has taxes come out of it? (I forgot to think that she had to pay taxes on those cock sucking wages) Money makes people do stuff “they don’t want to, but have to.”

Making decisions, making choices, is supposed to lead to learning, true learning on one’s meaning, from a natural innovative stance. Nature is the one that is supposed to reward and punish, not man and his authority. Nature is the one that should be guiding one’s education, guiding through trail and error to where man can figure out what he needs and doesn’t need, who he is and who he is not, not rumors, politics, parasitism, and game theory. When each man’s choices gets limited, dictated, he turns off more and more of his mind, where he becomes a follower, not an alive being, and he does become exactly what he knew he would be: He becomes nothing but his choices. And if his choices are guided by rules, a programming of his mind into obedience, materialistic copy-catting, and societal pressure, then he has never made any real choice. He is nothing.