There’s a gap between classes, an intercontinental divide, a fault line looming on the promise of inevitable friction caused by the give and take, mostly take from both sides. Over the centuries it’s been layered with overgrowth and hidden from the eyes of those not searching for it. Folks love to equate the working class with their white collared counterparts. Two sides of the same coin, they say. Shit, they’re not even the same currency, let alone tender. The genus in common, sure, but the species are vastly different. Only a few can tell as most aren’t looking. But why would they? “What does it matter?” they ask. Well if you have to ask that question, then the answer, well, you weren’t meant to understand it. The theory is that you can become whatever you want to be with enough effort and discipline. While this is true in a sense, people, animals are simply slaves to their DNA.
When a machine is built, it isn’t conscious of the other purposes it could be used for outside of it operating parameters, predetermined at its conception by its Gods. It can only function efficiently as it was originally designed. People are the same way. There is a balance that needs to be struck between who, and conversely what they are. These days, people have forgotten about the latter to focus only on the shallow, external who, leaving the what to operate in the background without so much as a drop of oil being added for the maintenance. This is folly. Much like the Tiger cannot live and operate as a house cat, the working man cannot exist in homeostasis as his white collared cousin. Not entirely. Sure, he can throw on the tie and the hastily shined shoes, smile and nod at his colleagues as he drinks his overpriced coffee from a styrofoam cup purchased by some low tier lackey at a local shop, but that tie becomes a noose, a constrictor around his throat, the decoction, a poison.
This is why, when the hour strikes the evening bell, the man flees the fluorescent lights, sheds the reptilian skin of his white collar facade and begins the metamorphosis, the decompression of his senses as his true nature returns to the surface of his pallor.
You see, I’ve felt this. I once yearned for the comfort of the climate controlled rooms and the impression of status given to those on the top floor. For three years, I toiled away at my desk in a desperate attempt to be one of them. For three years, I sought to change my nature, the way I thought, breathed. It wasn’t until I returned, in what turned out to be a fortuitous event, to the trenches, the front lines, the ground floor of industry that I felt like I belonged. My own savage nature was no longer taboo among the tribe, my tribe. The work was hard and the hours long, but I felt a sense of comfort, a calm within what seemed to outsiders, a hurricane of steel and sparks. It wasn’t merely who I was, but what I am, was built to be at the genomic level.
Men seek out that which they are, the aesthetic they’re drawn too, engraved on their bones. It isn’t by accident that his favorite color is black, his dog a large breed. These things are built into the cogs of his corporeal being. They make up part of the “what” he is. Nurture can only take him so far before Nature gets her say, the majority vote.
A cliche ́ in modern vernacular, “I was made for this.”, isn’t all that far from the truth. With a millennia of exposure and influence on the DNA, closely manipulated by the factor of geographical origin and all of its variables, yes, you were in fact made for something. The purpose of your physiological and metaphysical self, has been built into you much like the machine was built for its intended purpose. The ability to operate outside of its creators intention yet with a lowered functionality than that of the operation for which it was created.
So what do we do with this information, here within the safety of modern society where every man of every genomic origin is beset on all sides by comfort and ease? There is no urgent need for the myriad of mutations, wrought by nature herself as a systemic upgrade of the man. There is evidence suggesting that man is evolving further still, changing to meet the new environmental requirements of today and tomorrow. The problem is that this life of ease and safety hasn’t been around long enough, nor the mutations significant enough to have made any real progress. Such things take time, another millennia, to have the desired effect. Until then, the generational decline of environmental hardship will continue to be combated by the primal nature of man.
The beast that she, nature, created out of necessity.