Hard being a ghost retreading former territory that once so long ago I, along with so many long gone faceless others had hoped to have to tread about like terrible dinosaurs. But we like so many countless others became errant memories barely whispered of if ever acknowledged. Our dust intermingles now, blowing through the particles of long lost ancient temples from forgotten kingdoms and other societies that have collapsed without a peep. Those that we never knew or could hardly have imagined. The possibility of their existence having taken up this same space as deep to the mind as the pre-diluvian plains that now stretch out in every direction on the ocean’s floor. This irresponsible present no shelter to provide the eternal muse of those that dream themselves as perpetually immortal. The very ones that harbor their fragile cleverness in an arrogance that supposes that they could ever know anything more finite than the cold indifferent wind blowing through the centuries. What fools we were in youth to allow ourselves to be fooled!
So when did the race addictive penchant for mob violence against one’s own become the latest popular fad? To take a pick axe to virtues completely incomprehensible to those raised to be part of a herd. Card carrying fellow travelers raised by a system impregnated by antipodal minded Marxists to snap to attention when the Red Orchestra plays its old tired calamitous tune of “Monkey See, Monkey Do!” To so easily go along without a single question or speak up on your own behalf in maybe even whispering under one’s breath a single unrepentant, “No!” To allow one’s self to be led around by the nose with a ring of specious political diatribes undermining one’s own bedrock values from under their own feet. All the while believing that such recreation in this atavistic minded sensibility will not change their own particular situation one iota. For those too jaded by the sanctity of security afforded by the smokescreen of their Middle Class self-hating lifestyles with those smug attitude of nothing will change for them so soon to shatter their own suburban plate glass picture window in a hail of pavement stones that they have encouraged their own dear youngsters to throw. Nothing in that sense ever does really change. A fool is ever a fool’s own undoing.
So put one’s own neck in that ready noose that is casually offered by the current fashion of the times. But don’t cry when it is suddenly yanked tight and you choke! The lambs being guided on the way to their eventual slaughter having all along been the ultimate master plan. For regime change is a notion that begins at home only when practiced by cadres of artful foreign deceivers brought too readily into the bosom of one’s land. Dumb livestock may bleat in protest within the slaughterhouse pens on the way to their own demise. But at least they haven’t been guilty of shutting their senses to the inevitable fact of it now operating in full gear. Much less intelligent still are those who deny their own reality and defer judgment in their own defense without a peep because it might offend. The ultimate tyranny being the notion that speech of any type is too intolerable to be publicly heard. The fallacy of willfully plunging one’s head in the sands of indifference while being steadily co-opted into acceptance of yet another patent lie that has been sold as for the good of all.