Plan to end world poverty

Philosophy Forums Society, Government, and Economics
1

One of the worst examples of world poverty we have are refugees, fleeing war and natural disasters.

Haiti, a while back, has banned free food imports realizing it was having a negative effect, Haitians didn’t farm as much as before, because food could be gotten for free, so the incentive to become fiid sufficient just wasn’t there, keeling the country impoverished.

Having studied how America tackles poverty, watching it first hand in the field, especially in grocery and gas stations in poor neighborhoods, I’ve come up with a solution, modeled off the American model of welfare that we make available to our own people:

When a natural disaster strikes, such as a massive earthquake, instead of airdropping food… we airdrop scratch off lottery tickets and cartons of cigarettes on people.

And I don’t mean, in one big group, but scattered to the wind. Make them search in the woods for days in end, scratching endlessly, for that big win. Once in a while, they can find smokes, light it up, feel relieved. The tickets give them hope, the smokes relieve their nerves… it’s a symbiotic relationship. As a plus, it improves the health of their economy, as they don’t have to worry about food crashing the market value of their crops for sale. The lottery winners will create a new class of monied investors, keeping their money local, in banks, adding to the local pool of loans available, each investigated carefully on the ground by bankers looking for a sure return on loans offered.

Its exactly how we do things in America, more or less from what I can see. I don’t see why it can’t work in these situations.

2

Yes, the key factor in the American approach is to make futile self-relation feel like one is engaged and active.
Smoking is doing nothing and self-damaging, but it feels active, and one does, in fact, combust much of the object.
The mammal feels active and effective.
Lottery tickets have this quality also, but they do something on a miraculous spiritual level also.

The present is less real.

Poor, sitting in your trailer, or working several shit jobs to keep a little food on the table for the kid…? This is reality.

No. This moment is, with the addition of the lottery ticket, quasi real, potentially unreal, since one may already have, via the possible win, eliminated much of this supposed reality.
Now is not real.
This is not real.

I do think television and now even surfing and texting must be added to the American strategy of dealing with the poor.

Not only is now not real, but there is no self to be poor, just this skittering, anonymous consciousness.

3

Is “real” for you some sort of idealized Marxists-Freudian Revolution, where everyone is forced to live in communes named after random letters and numbers, wear all the same clothes and haircuts, as political officers ride around, standing in the sun roof of humvees, reaping the praise of a socialist banana republic from the peons and shooting the cocks of peasant dissenters like myself who dare to frown every time they ride by us, demanding from all our praise and glory, not for “themselves”, but as proxy for the great leader?

I really don’t want to stand on a bucket in a cold, shadowy dripping basement with electric nipple clamps on, shocked every time I recite Marx’s Das Kapital wrong from memory, or giggle every time I see the picture of Comrade Bob Avakian on the wall of my torture chamber with that stupid hat of his. Personally, I’d take the scratch off lottery tickets over the “Real” if that’s the case, and from what I’ve seen of modern European philosophy, or the American University Left, that’s more or less what ‘The Real’ is.

Honestly, my balance isn’t that good, and I make puddles when I’m stressed, so don’t do inflict this bucket treatment on me. Only thing I got working for me is my nipples aren’t erogenous, so maybe that will dampen the pain a bit.

m.youtube.com/watch?v=5bobskjQwWI

(Only I could turn that into a torture chamber song, and make it work so well in context)

4

Well, that’s likely real - the way things are - to varying degrees in many places. The portion of the real I was thinking of above, it was more like, shitty jobs for drones, horrible schooling, only shitty food affordable, lying politicians, an oligarchy of the banking/corporate elite and so on.

If you think I am proposing some marxist revolution in response to that piece of the real, well, no. Marx had some decent analyses of problems - but then so do many others - but in the solution department he was clearly nuts.

Sounds like a healthy lack of attraction to something on your part.

For me the real for most of the lottery ticket buyers is more Smithian than Marxian. No one needs to put them in basements and electroshock their nipples. The soft slow torture is working quite well on them. Plus the mindfucking.

5

OK, it’s not enough that agreeing with you means that I am some kind of Marxist. Does this mean that you are a Marxist so when someone agrees with you about whateverthefuck you can assume they are, like you a Marxist-Freudian wanting to torture you in a basement? I mean, what are you six fucking years old. I understand some guy in the jungle, 3 days awake, opening up on the shadow of a branch because the outline of that shadow might have been an enemy soldier. That I get. Stress, physical reactions, pattern formation neurons making sure anything remotely like the enemy in position to kill does not get the initiative. I get that. But here, you lazy, generalizing fucked up asshole, in a discussion forumm something reminds you of something, the vaguest fucking outline of a shadow, in a POST THAT IS FUCKING AGREEING WITH YOURS, of some philosophical system I do not hold and you lash out like some alcoholic in a black-out taking a swing at what he thinks is his exwife but it’s actually the postman. And when the assumption is pointed out to you, you do fucking nothing, because the chaos in your sick fucking head has somehow led you to believe that you have not the slightest need for integrity being another self-made genius who decides to leave Satyr at precisely that moment where you might have realized that everything that bothers you about Satyr is a quality you have in spades. So go fuck yourself you honorless twat.

6

Interesting switch in your emotional balance between your two last posts. Get some coffee in you, then come back and curse me out clear headed.

Satyr wasn’t involved in this, I didn’t even know he was a Marxist.

7

I can only hope, for your sake, you are joking. Of course he isn’t a Marxist you idiot. Of course he wasn’t involved is this thread or this issue. Just re-noting that you suffer the same 'possible familiar pattern in my field of vision must smash it now’ habit. Reminded again here of the the similarity, remembering your crankiness in relation to him, I tossed that similarity into the fuck you. To ornament it. Perhaps you might wonder why autodidact little fascists keep getting in tiffs with the master and coming over to ILP to proclaim their genius. LOL, makes me think of The Three Christs of Ypsilanti. Though those guys actually made a few steps in self-awareness when seeing their reflections.

As far as coffee…it was clear. I could use your posts as a model, laughing again.

Funny the idea of trying to find a way to make it clear to you. Cute. Expend that effort yourself.

8

I’m embarrassed to say I’m lost right now, but I’m going to take this tangential, unexpected reaction you just had under the blanket excuse that you just realized I’m a bit of a dick. I don’t understand currently why your yelling at me, but will write it off as karma for some other place.

So, are you saying I am a Marxist?

9

Just to paraphrase what I encountered.

10

So are you or are you not a Communist? I can’t be a friend to a Communist and still be a loyal American. I gotta back Freedom in the War Against Communism. That’s virtue. I can accept your pagan ways, as it’s merely a slight to God, my beliefs, and the orderings of Nature, but never a insurrection against the truth of Capitalism.

Better? I still don’t know what this is about, but if you want me to wail against those dirty, child molesting Reds, I can dammit, I can. They get into your textbooks, your mind, your Starbucks, and collapse everything from the inside as Fifth Columnists.