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Tale of Tiny Man With Scissors: How Abstract Thinking Became Concrete Prison

Preamble. Meet the Great Castrator.

I am looking at a staircase. It is going very high up, and somewhere in the middle, stands a tiny man with scissors. His role is to make sure that on the way up, nobody makes it through with their balls intact and their souls uncracked.

Want to make it big time? Snip-snip, congrats, you are good to go.

Want to be a huuuuge influencer on TV? Well, you’ve worked hard and you’ve made it so far… snip-snip. Up you go, tiger. 

The corporate gatekeeper is smiling. Continuity of tradition is his job.

You can say whatever you want as long as it’s just titillating soundbites in people’s ears. 

You can say whatever you want as long as your breath has never traveled to the unspeakable place of raw freedom—or, if you are familiar with that place, you have forgotten even the smell of it.