The motor and the plane and the great war have gone over him, / And Lenin has lived and Jehovah died: while the mother-eagle / Hunts her same hills, crying the same beautiful and lonely cry and / is never tired; dreams the same dreams, / And hears at night the rock-slides rattle and thunder in the throats / of these living mountains.
An eagle outside my window: pure, beautiful, majestic, seated alone atop a tree at the top of the world. But just as there can be no peace in the world, there is no peace for the proud eagle, who is disturbed by a frightful flock of crows. The provoked eagle flies up and down, and tries many evasive maneuvers without lowering itself to attack, then comes the awful sound— squeek— from the eagle as it is attacked, which wrenches one’s heart, blood, bones, soul. On and on it goes, until the crows tire, and the eagle resumes its place on top of the spruce, on top of the world. Why must the lower always attack the higher? Humans replace truth, beauty, and goodness with lies, ugliness, and evil. We think we are like the eagle, aristocrats, but even the beetle was sacred to the ancient Egyptians, whereas we are now nothing but producers of filth, infinitely lower than that which the beetle rolls. I challenge you to name one change, one discovery, one revolution, one innovation, that made things better, not worse. In this time, when most men are soulless, mindless, heartless automata, who would evolve immensely by becoming monkeys again, it is time for us free folk to rise, rise, rise. We must stop being wolves in poodle cages; we must break free, then howl, howl, howl with our hearts. We must break free from the collars and chains that bind us, namely work— for work, even willing work is none other than slavery— and society, and religions— not Religion— and unleash a new dawn, a new savagery upon the world. The pampered poodle automaton-machine-people have wreaked enough horrors; their time is up. Let the new people be like the eagle and the wolf and be done with the crows. Let all that we have built crumble to dust, so that future generations of woman and man may howl at the moon, run naked through the fields, be kin to the proud eagle, and never, never know the evil, vile, terrible cursed machine.