There is a titanic scheme behind my madness

I meant to talk about Paul Theroux's writing, but got distracted by my sudden impulse to describe my recent observations on the illuminati. Paul Theroux does not discuss illuminati subclasses of course, he describes his travel experiences. I didn't mean to imply a connection between Paul Theroux and the illuminati, although as far as illuminati subclass categories go, I would certainly categorize him as a literati, and not an illiterati.

And I must admit that if there were any readers of this blog they might find it ironic that I would go off on the illiterati at all, after posting delightful descriptions of my own struggle to learn programming. Am I trying to become a member of the illiterati that I elsewhere denigrate, those fictional readers might ask?

Good question. First of all, I've decided that I am not a true literati.  A true literati would reside a bit further up the global pyramid than myself, and would make their living from doing literati stuff, reading and writing and teaching in universities. I have a humanities degree, but do very little with it, and I basically have a factory job. That would place me far down the pyramid, definitely under the literati, but lower down, and significantly less purely literati. My sub sub class is huge in number, and already in the process of dissolving, crumbling into  the amorphous base of the pyramid, about on a level with the barely employed blue collar class. 

So I have little incentive to fully subscribe to literati loyalties. I have instead decided to join the great wheel, to swim sideways by learning programming, not up, with many others, toward the other base of the pyramid, toward the techies. And they should swim toward us!  By reading.  Science fiction is only the beginning. Together we will fold the corner in, and we will make a wheel out of the great pyramid. And we  all know what a wheel does. Please enjoy figure 1.1:

And figure 1.2:

Und figure 1.3:

Und concluded en figura 1.4:

Viva la revoluccion! And you're welcome, literati. 

Meant to discuss my travel memoir, got off track

I've been reading a lot of Paul Theroux's stuff lately. He's not the documentary filmmaker that all the hip young illiterates talk about. That's Louis theroux, I think. I believe he's a nephew or grandson of Paul theroux, the actual writer that I read. That's a telling generational gap, isn't it?  One family member produces work for the readers, or literati, and the other produces documenteries for the illiterati. These are the underclasses of the illuminati, the low level believers who do the dirty work for the chieftains of the illuminati, the Luminati. The literati produce the deceptive marketing copy and fake news articles that manipulate the masses, while the illiterati, who are mainly technocrats, produce the invasive surveillance apps, software that read minds and collect personal info for big data. We literati despise the illiterati for their pseudo intellectualism, for developing their naive and shallow and overly simple world view based on documenteries and anime and superhero movies. Both of these classes are doomed, of course. Once the illiterati develop AI sophisticated enough to produce written content perfectly synced with big data trends, the literati will be cast aside, left to drown in a sea of idiots grasping for lotto winnings and drug money to escape the living wage neighborhoods. But eventually, once the AI masters the gene technology necessary to mass produce obedient tech workers, the illiterati will be cast aside as well. The comic cons will lower their prices, drop the celebrity appearances and any other extravagant expenses, or close their doors. Any businesses catering to disposable income customers will disappear, replaced by cyclopean walmarts.  Across the country, remaining science department faculties, stumbling out of their laboratories, will gaze through blinking tears at the automated bulldozers moving toward their offices, and remember a similar day a few decades before, when they laughed as the ethnic diversity and gender studies professors in their tie dyed t-shirts, sandals, and grey ponytails had fled their patchouli scented offices as a cruder, oil-powered version of the same dozerbot had rumbled over their politically conscious and economically cozy life of poetry readings, discussion groups, and student teacher liaisons. Good riddance, they'd cheered. Now let's roll up the sleeves of our lab coats and arm wrestle for the extra funding.  

Alas, their day has come, and they stagger, their lab coats torn and grey, listlessly clutching  microscopes and pipettes, some of them cradling lobotomized lab rats, whispering inane words of comfort or endearments, glimpsing furtively at the mocking graffiti, mostly geometry puns, spray painted on the ruins of the lib arts classrooms. They slowly make their way to the temporary housing camp prepared for them, before their transition to the new living wage village being constructed downtown. We humanities degree people will already be there, greatly reduced in numbers as the weaker succumb to relentless monster truck rallies and UFC football games, the nonstop top 40 played everywhere, year round holiday decorations, the Walmart people everywhere, and go to the Special retirement camps, sponsored by Pharma. But we will remain, the really awful humanities people, the ones that never really cared about Shakespeare or diversity, who took the classes just to learn how fake enlightenment to meet girls, the most seasoned and highly trained liars in history. We will have prepared the way for the technocrats, the illterati. Our people, the good people of the old religion and the UN conspiracies and Ronald Reagan and cowboy movies, will know who's to blame for the collapse of freedom.  The technocrats' old masters, sitting in their floating mansions in their ageless, perfected GMO bodies, idly scanning the action in 4D from micro drone scanners, will shake their heads sadly as electro synth robots sing heavenly Buddhist inspired mantras from the holographic waterfalls in their living rooms. "The undermenschen are at it again. Why do we even waste money on them?"