Humans are narrative creatures. Once, they weren’t. Sometime, many aeons ago – the true story of which keeps getting changed as the pesky evidence continues to contradict official dogma – humans were allegedly bestial creatures no different from the animals.
Then, presumably some interface with something happened and humans became able to see the future, explore possibilities in a mental space as opposed to merely a physical one and use narratives to guide them through the various shenanigans that occurred as a result.
Beginning in the post-war period, materialist science and commercial interest merged with Cold War technology to create an onslaught of literal narrative weapons which have been more widely deployed and ultimately damaging to the fabric of humankind than any military hardware has been.
One of the forms of this psychological weaponry was the creation of a corporate film overlying society. Everything could be purchased; money could come from nowhere and it could buy things you couldn’t dream of years ago; the time period shortening as technology increased rapidly and the economy’s growth could outstrip the speed at which new things could be created.
Then society reached the tipping point; the manufacturing again became faster than the ideas that caused quantum leaps; and suddenly the world is awash with countless millions of plastic trinkets —new technology becomes sold on an incremental as opposed to exponential basis. This, combined with a bunch of other factors class-based and generational means that the addiction to new things must inevitably abate.
However, there is no shifting the corporate egregore at this point; it’s a fat cuckoo that’s already pushed the patriotic, religious and ancestral chicks out of the nest. Cuckoo chicks are ugly, and clearly not the same as the unwitting parents. They don’t fool the parent birds per se., they distract them with a bright orange mouth. That’s what the corporate egregore did when it realised it couldn’t convince you that you really needed to feed it your money for the next latest gadget.
Corporate Minimalism and the Stripping of Heritage
Buy experiences, not things,” read half-a-dozen newspaper headlines and lifestyle magazine editorials, sometime a few years back. Based on the latest research and studies into economic behaviourism, this was the advice. Stop buying stuff, start buying stuff that is marked: this item is clearly not stuff.
Things like flights, live events, drinks out on the town with friends and the ultimate lifestyle inflation of eating out every night were the new thing on the economic-cuckoo-egregore’s menu.
Popular ‘smart thinking’ gurus like Tim Ferriss and the army of Silicon Valley NPCs that followed him out of California with their Live, Laugh, Eat and Pray, Love mantras would tell you that the future was minimalism; pack everything up in your old kit bag and vagabond meaninglessly across the course of your life. Freeze your eggs while you’re at it girls, because this is the left-hand-side-of the-shelf book-end. We had to wait a few years for the other side, but when it arrived, it was obvious:
“You’ll own nothing. And you’ll be happy.”
Embedded Meaning: When the Thing is Not the Thing Itself
At the instance humans began to recognise time and those mental forms began to take shape, there was likely an animistic sense that the mental world was not the same as the physical one, but they were related. Cave paintings are our earliest evidence for this.
When our stone-age painters depicted the hunt, there was surely the observation that painting the aurochs didn’t fill the hunters’ bellies. The artistic creation of the prey did not bring stacks of meat for them to sit and eat in their caves. However, they could see the prey in the heads. And by artistically rendering the hunt, they closed the gap between the mental world of possibilities and the physical world in which they had to chase the fauna with spears.
To our cavemen ancestors, the painting was not just the thing. It was the thing, but it was also a means of embedding a mental possibility onto the real world. Such as it is with things in the modern day.
Your childhood cuddly toy isn’t merely a cotton and wool depiction of an animal. It’s an anchor for the imaginal you’ve been building since you were born. The book you read isn’t just words on a page; it’s a gateway to an imaginal realm that feeds your mind as your mind feeds the existence of the characters contained within the pages.
At large, objects were, are, and have the potential to be sources of meaning. This is what the corporate cuckoo wants to replace.
Heirlooms: Multi-Generational Warfare Devices
Heirlooms are a means of narrative time-travel. As described above, a physical object is not ever the sum total of the object itself; instead, it’s an anchor point for the narratives that weave themselves around it.
An heirloom is an anchor by which a narrative can be created and passed down longer than either the story itself – nor the physical item, should it remain “uncharged” by a narrative – would last.
Heirlooms are also potential weapons against the corporate cuckoo egregore for the same reason: you are, if you care about your status as a human being as opposed to unthinking drone, engaged in warfare against the various Lovecraftian influences which seek to strip meaning from you. The weapon you use against an enemy which seeks to strip you of meaning is your innate and God(s)-given ability to embed meaning.
It’s your duty to build narratives and at your disposal is every item you own; embed and imbue every object you own with story, meaning and seek to spend the invisible egregore’s money on objects that extend the narratives you put into the world.
This is how to build objects of power.