From the outset of industrialization, a number is mandated to track free-range humanoid avatars, along with the rest of civilian civilization, to make sure all are staying in their prescribed lane.

Originally, ‘the number’ was cleverly referred to as ’S.I.N.’ (social insurance number)—a nod to the word of Mammon gods—currency and algorithmic code ruled supreme, exacting pounds of flesh from mere mortal beings—the obligatory mental torture, deep anguish, and ensuing depression—this eternal tormentor embedded inside the heaven and hell of original binary sin.
By default, as an initiation into the grand scheme of things, in essence, the original definition of ‘cult’—all humanoid avatars are part of a carefully numbered team—where all free-range avatars’ story in earnest begin.

Inside the tail end of one of the most spectacular asset bubbles in the history of humankind, Japanese society was still relatively insular and closed—a justifiable stance in light of the Hardcore History of Japan.

An Incidental Occidental, a savage stinking of grass-fed butter—a challenge to the delicate senses of the Japanese citizens who pride themselves on subtlety, restraint, and the ancient notion of wabi-sabi—if more than anything but a transient tourist, it must be catalogued and tracked—for this was the law of the sacred islands of Yamato.

As draconian as this may seem, the Ministry of Justice-controlled Japanese resident card had a mandatory fingerprint for all foreigners, regardless of origin, race, creed, color, or age.

Yet, initially, this was deeply strange and even more so weird, as in the world of the Occxies, fingerprints are the mark of blue- and white-collar bums, along with convicted felons—those who tangle with the law of the land.

Accordingly, under the rules of the family’s tutelar deity, adherence to the law of the nation of residence is a commonsensical thing—based on the precept of moral principles of the society of the Japanese and their sacred land.

Settled down and assimilated into this earthly Garden of Eden, always observing this strange and ancient world from the edge of the Kizuna Jinja infinite koi pond—the amazing miracle of technology facilitates a manifested vision perceived far beyond the superficial layers of the material fray, deep inside the phantasmagorical world of TBG and the Incidental Occxie—whose number is none.

Inside the industrial fray, the materialist avatars insist that only numbers can carry the day—measure everything up, slice and dice it to be divvied up—the massive delusion of the crowd worshipping numbers, money, and stuff.

A spectacular sight to behold in the industrialized world of cut-throat competition is the observation of rabid patriotism—heavy chanting and incantation of the slogan of indoctrinated loyalists—We’re Number One—We’re Number One—We’re Number One.

Unlike the aforementioned random number assigned to industrial humans, the essence of freedom is that you too, like all free-range avatars, always have the mysterious option to follow the sun—it is here where anyone can become number none.

Referring to the ancient protocol of han men kyo shi—how not to behave—an ancient nugget of wisdom from time gone by will facilitate the courage to unfold your golden wings if you so choose to fly.

A change in the chemistry, a shift of the vibration of each of our ‘seity’—signaling the death of constructed industrial mythology—inside the material sludge with boatloads of freeloaders catching a free ride—what it means to be a slave inside the industrial complex of modernity or a neo clan avatar ranging free.

Evolution into a higher communication solution is now plain to see—as a proactive player in this finite material game of sludge accumulation, the goal is to build globally distributed neo societies, forming theory into a common vision—connection of trust and loyalty—edification of each other via ephemeral exchanges with each other’s ‘seity’ instantaneously creating the new paradigm of neo community, the foundational structure of Civilization Three.