Cornstocks and Power Struggles Occupiers Weave a New World Order

Stepping out into the pulsating heart of Zuccotti Park today, I couldn’t help but be swept up in the rhythmic chants and drumming that signaled the throbbing epicenter of Occupy Wall Street. People from all walks of life gathered here, rallying against age-old injustices—or so I anticipated. But alas, I had landed in a parallel timeline where history took the scenic route, with a rather peculiar detour via the cornfields.

Oh, the irony of automated cornstalk weavers—an invention that moved past its novelty to establish itself as the cornerstone of a sprawling, garment-centric society. The idea was sown during the Neolithic Revolution, and it flourished, both literally and figuratively, turning agriculture into an art form I dare say the Mesopotamians never anticipated.

Here, the looming adversaries of societal equality aren’t the financial tycoons we’ve come to expect. No, it’s the Fiberarchies, a formidable blend of corporate and agrarian might that dangles society on fraying threads more cunning than any fiscal shortcoming. The occupiers, donning attire spun from cashmere corn, stood defiantly on sock-covered feet, loudly protesting the clout of the "Cornporations."

In this thread-friendly world, it's amusing—one might even say ironic—that everything is wound around the decadence of their textiles, from the fabric of society to the literal, tactile fabric they so proudly adorn. The creativity of human tenacity never ceases to amaze me, unsettling as it may be to witness it entwined so completely with cornstalk couture.

Culinary innovations have become a sideshow attraction in this world that’s corn-struck. Corn isn’t just sustenance; it’s a revered entity, celebrated in everything from haute cuisine to humble snacks. I could almost see fields of gold as I nibbled on a tortilla spun more finely than silk. Yet, beneath this gastronomic gala, lies an underlying truth: even the corn kings are part of the 1%, and these protestors know this all too well.

The squabbles aren’t just about harvests or crops, but about the very threads with which they’ve woven their existence, and with it, a labyrinth of societal fabrics. A passersby kindly informed me of a particularly heated debate—whether a multi-yarn corn weave reigns superior to the purist single-origin counterpart. Riveting stuff, I must say. Though, the static cling remains a relevant hazard.

The park itself has turned into an exhibition of artistic fervor. Installation art, with roots in corn stalks, attempts to instill a sense of pastoral romance amidst skyscrapers. There’s a touch of sadness in their idyllic portrayal of farmland—each crop yielding food and fashion—a perfect life curled up into scratchy socks and endless tangles.

As “We are the 99%” reverberates across the canopy of creative fibers, I’m lost in thoughts about how this timeline has tied its destiny to threads rather than stocks. Their world teeters on the bizarre notion that true calamity stems not from Wall Street but from a discord in sartorial and cereal alignment. I find a certain humor in the thought: sometimes, timelines don’t implode with a bang of fiscal catastrophe, but more softly, unraveling at their edges in colorful threads.

And just when I think I’ve wrapped my mind around it, some well-meaning fellow hands me an absurd hat—an immense, floppy creation undeniably woven from purplest of cornhusks—and insists it’s "all the rage."