The dirty lobster red rises like stirred up sediment hovering just over the horizon demeaning the sun from a glorious chariot to simply just another mundane crustacean lobbing about. Where the disposition of daily existence might be characterized as displacement of rock and water into a fiery inferno a more accurate view might be humanity making its mark by stubbing out a cigarette butt in a long un-emptied ashtray. Cynical as that might appear to be as a personal outlook, the well-heeled boys and girls that have the rest of us in what seems to be a perpetual nut crunch with their myriad of world dominating schemes. But they may have finally outwitted themselves along with the rest of us? After all, what’s the big deal about a few billion dead bodies anyway? Consider those needless experience of early childhood when someone came to school with their daddy’s philatelic magnifying magnifying glass and it became death ray from space time. That’s how one has to wonder the world is being managed these days. Maybe that is why the Boy George scouts are banning squirt guns these days? Or in our enlightened time, a father can legally ‘marry‘ his son?
Another analogy that comes to mind is a cart full of last years harvest careening down the side of a mountain caught completely on fire with the farmer previously unawares of same madly chasing it. How it got to be overloaded int he first place without the horse being first up to it in the first place being anybody’s guess? With accountability or transparency substituted by ‘laissez faire’ greed and endless lame excuses one need not speculate too much as to the causes behind any wagons surreptitiously overloaded in the dead of night with no one claiming responsibility. “Hurrah Hillary and Bill!”
But imagine if you could some place where people still recognize the importance of their own little corner of the cosmos and turn down the volume of devices that demand them to “make a difference” for the rest of the work as opposed to keeping their own corner properly in order according to what the active paper ballot based consensus local neighborhood has in mind? A recipe for hateful competition and endless friction like the disembodied spirits of our electronic brethren constantly remind us, right? There can be no place for any group that hopes to aspire to reasonable existence on their it’s behalf, or by doing so, rise above any other! That is why the animal kingdom never developed workable thumbs and the curious phenomena in any other species but our own. That’s why the ‘law of the jungle‘ still seems to be in force in the rest of the chaotic ‘out there‘ for billions of years since the first cell. Or, so we are relentlessly told.
The notion of ‘property’ being some much more a curious topic than that of one inhabiting ‘territory‘. Is it a fiction to begin with in the consciousness of those who pretend to rule the universe? “Sign on the dotted line!” Does that mean that everyone is born with some sort of natural right of ownership and then spend the entirety of their earthly existence signing it away for trinkets. The line, incidentally, if you bother to look closely is not a line at all but the tiniest of type stating “authorized signature“. In the sixteenth century the offering to the natives was shiny beads and hatchets to the natives in exchange for their land was accompanied with a piece of parchment that not a one of the sellers had the ability to read. Yet the the ‘freebooters‘ sailed happily home to the titular heads of their respective empires and waved the damn thing around like somehow they all ‘owned‘ something. The indigenous tribes who were stupid enough to believe that there was no such thing as this idea of ‘ownership‘ were equally off the mark by the display of the true measure of those amazing fire sticks that thundered their cry to the sky and summoned the invader’s god to strike down the person that the stick was pointed at. They soon learned how things worked but not until they were too stupid to realize that one shouldn’t feed their enemies and allow too many of them to run freely throughout the Great Spirit’s land unattended. There is no scheme too pernicious when the idea of ownership and it’s evil twin money come into play.
So here in this current empire of the America’s many of us sit wondering what happened to those previous golden times now currently under the burden of that curious thing called debt? Something that seemingly accumulates faster the harder we cumulatively lend our collective efforts to support the causes of our so called great fatherly (or motherly) friends. They are so busy being kindly and generous to so many far off phantoms or lost causes located out of sight somewhere else half way around the world while the rest of us continue to awaken each day wondering where next month’s rent is coming from with our empty pockets turned inside out. Maybe you have to ask yourself, like those poor Indian’s or jungle tribesman, “Is this a game I want to continue to play?”