The bottle’s neck smelled like sarsaparilla.A most annoying smell that transposed itself to taste when one lifted the bottle’s open end to the mouth to swallow it’s contents. As the neutral sensation of carbonated mineral water was tainted by that fragrance it despoiled the experience of the drink. At two dollars a bottle, its presence as a staple to his daily diet had become an expensive commodity. Certainly not detrimental to his general health. In fact quite the opposite. But fatal to his lack of income which at present was next to insufficient. How unthinking of the anonymous party who stocked the local store to bathe their skin in some eccentric offbeat fragrance that for them was some sort of signature of individual personality. An unwanted commercially available pheromone that may have provided them with a greater level of social accessibility but to his sense of smell and taste only signified annoyance. The efficiency of his senses had come down to the bare minimum over too many years of constant assault by city living with its proclivity of volatile industrial ether. Acetone’s, keytone’s and kerosene’s. Ethyl methyl’s, pollen’s and dusts. The smell of tainted canals wafting up daily from ten miles to the south. It all intermixed into a noxious stew the presence of which was ever on display on the horizon each night at sunset. The personal signature of the massive enclave within which the bulk of his mortal existence had transpired. A scratchy dryness suddenly appeared as he cleared his throat of the sensation of thickened mucous with low grating vocal scrape.
His custom at the small supermarket chain was regular but small in revenue. The fact that the state was picking up the tab not adding weight to any potential commentary he might offer as to a positive suggestion by him of how to avoid such unfortunate inadvertent situations that would steal away customer satisfaction with the goods offered by the establishment. After all if he had wanted some flavored water there wee certainly more sophisticated and tastier alternatives available. He could imagine the scenario in this current era of faceless commercial consumerism. A prompt refund might be initially offered with a customary apology at his complaint when the touchstone of a recent sales receipt was produced, Maybe the thin unsubstantial promise of promptly seeing to it that an internal inquiry would be conducted within the next day so as to bring the offending shelf ‘stocker’ into line with store policies on personal hygiene. Part of him was rankled by the thought of this. One one hand there would be a certain Patrician satisfaction if on the next purchase the product’s containers had resumed their former neutral lack of taste or aroma. Yet this would cast him in a group that he himself personally despised. Those pinch nosed egomaniacs that thought nothing of disturbing the usual fast-paced rhythms of efficiently stocking shelves by hard working low paid staff who would now be eyed with an even greater level of suspicion in an economy that already had too many working far below their potential earning less dollars than they were supposedly deserved of. This might lead to unintended consequences? By some odd stretch of his imagination he could conceive of a scenario where through the consternation of an underling his rare and hard to find preference of brand would be struck from the store’s inventory? Then where would he be able to seek out the key active element in his own personal daily ritual of mental solace?
It made him even more cross to think how powerless he was to provide one measure of constancy to a diminished level of bare bones existence that by all intents and purposes should not have to suffer such constant and daily privation. When would this persistent economic drought lift and a reasonable level of local prosperity return? It was so unfair! The neighborhood was not by any stretch of the imagination destitute. The ghetto of urban blacks and Hispanics at the municipal border stood some two miles East. A curtain of struggling tax challenged White Middle class homes standing as sentinels to the ebb and flow shift of ethnic distribution. It was true that the endless stream of peoples from outside the nation had not been stemmed but quite the opposite, had been increasing. The first and second generations of same now economically acclimated and relatively prosperous and stable. The spectrum of goods and services locally available bearing ever more foreign sounding names with strange characters painted in garish jarring color palates that seemed to contradict those that once was long used to. He could recall so many memories of years past where one could rely on local standbys that had made their reputations solid through providing old world service and goods that were significant of those golden years of easily obtainable living. Now their empty store fronts were slowly being bulldozed having sat too long in the eclipse of what was formerly the good old days. It made his blood boil to see that other neighborhood across the boulevard just South stand so unaffected by all this! Large houses with many more bedrooms than needed by the average family/ Well-manicured highly decorated parcels of acreage that required ant-like crews of immigrant labor to maintain that immaculate fairy tale untouched appearance. As if everyone who lived there was somehow an Olympian far above the cares and woes of the normal folk that did without so that they did not have to. That was the myth and backbone of the credo of Capitalism! Something that despite all the social cultural dislocation that most felt one was required to give reverent lip service to.
He took another sip from the bottle and wrinkled his nose. Things were not like this before his mind responded to the renewed annoyance of that strange offbeat scent. It reminded him of those odd smells that would be occasionally wafting past into the open driver’s side window of his sedan when he found himself driving through that over-packed noisy decaying urban sprawl that was thick with perpetually dissatisfied ghetto-dwellers who seemed always surly and ready to impose the threat of violent confrontation. The associations one had when traversing those areas was to keep the windows rolled up tight and maintain a swift and as uninterrupted progress down the center lanes of a major boulevard making sure that one would not be unsuspectedly blocked by hostile parties who might have violent intentions on their mind. He absolutely hated those places and could imagine setting foot on the Moon without a space suit easier than strolling down the sidewalk of any of those avenues either day or night. Their incrementally expanding presence ever seeping towards his own tiny kingdom being so very significant of how bad things were getting in the world at large. He hated that smell. It upset everything! It made him want to sell or even just throw out everything, sell his property and go somewhere. Anywhere! Just as long as he didn’t have to deal with those ever-demanding hostile forces. It wasn’t fair! He and his parents had worked for years starting up a small family company that when times were good allowed them to live well. The shift in technologies and the fall of fashion restlessly progressing away from the style and substance that the business offered causing it eventually to close before the passing of his kin. He had to supposed that given his own advance in age that he was to be considered almost a dinosaur? Someone from a bygone era that wouldn’t have the skill base or proper mentality to continue in society in a manner that was productive enough to hire. His generation like that of his own parents being the most reliable and easy target of eventual scorn. It wasn’t true he heard an inner voice protest. Alas a deeper more steadied voice seemed to respond, “Indeed it was!”
In a backwater border area somewhere near an African frontier a tiny mud brick box shaped shanty stood. Long abandoned. It now served as a covert military installation. A bunker serving as a forward looking enemy observation lookout post. Central Command had decided it would make an incursion through bombardment by using this location as the operation’s covert base and ready eyes. They set up a gigantic booby trap per their orders in the adjacent quadrant near the enemy. A killing field that the artillery barrage would subsequently drive them into. The well-hidden structure was manned at times by three or four paramilitary and agency types, half of them women. An unlikely combination of personnel considering the immense level of physical danger in holding such a position after the fact of the disclosure of their presence in the region. They had to attempt to make the second part of the mission look as if it was simply a happenstance occurrence that did not reveal the fact of their presence in near proximity within this structure on the ground. Theoretically the distance between them and the ambush they set up would be far enough. They prepared their end of this exercise from the cover of the tall grass that cloaked their location from view. When it came to initiate their end of it by setting off the explosives, much to their surprise and dismay, a woman’s frantic voice sounded outside revealing their position. Someone that had panicked and not followed the directive of leading potential pursuers away from their disguised base. Small fists pounding furiously on the outside of the structure’s only entrance. This fugitive’s opposite number giving her entry inside just managing to close the heavy wooden beam door before the enemy arrived to lay immediate siege to their structure. A contingent of troops that had been just far afield enough to manage to avoid being annihilated and now burning white hot for a quick and brutal revenge to be levied in kind. The rapid assault on the sturdy timbers saw them pried from their jamb and uprooted in an unexpectedly swift manner. The small room filling quickly with many sets of eyes bearing expectant expressions searching for victims upon which to visit their impending evil intent. Their festival of the application of vengeance would begin in a round of torture of the men and and build slowly to a crescendo saving the women for its finale. Tasking their imaginations to kill everybody in the bunker in the worst way possible. Their collective efforts seeking to provide a fit level of retribution for the ambush.
A Portuguese speaking backwater community in the middle of nowhere in sight of the coast. A haven for old burned out Hippies. A truck driver of a big box panel job doubling as a cab driver offering rides through the tangle of tiny causeways and dead ends that served as the town’s central sprawl. Navigating congested city traffic in the oddest of spaces. In one instance actually bumping up and down going up over the roofs then bouncing across their closely stepped flat cousins down finally into a bone jarring impact upon a dusty street. Smashing a large granite serpentine Augustine head with the back of the vehicle’s carriage. Revealing its true character as a faux stone maquillage for hiding drugs in their liquid form. The immediate result of such a spectacle finding the thoroughly rattled passenger now extent on the other side of town. The driver reveals a young adult daughter whose birthright has cost him his chance at fortune. But he is not a vindictive sort. If you treat him nice then maybe next time take the ride and you can have his daughter maybe as a wife? Maybe to prove yourself? The young girl being the next chapter of the tale being spun. That old story of a Tomboy tough exterior camouflaging an otherwise good heart. The mood of the scene set off by the transport of Italian architecture many centuries past. Though these people are not Italian they are living in an old town. The tourist comes back by the stable of the pensione eating a leg joint of chicken finding the young woman naked in the corral tending to the animals. A big brown and white Guernsey cow backed up against the rails where a horse formerly stood. He tosses the piece to her and she tosses it back on the ground. Then quickly picks it up and throws it back out of the corral at its sender with a look of disgust. “I don’t like chicken!”, she snarls. She’s a willful spirited lass. The man reflects as to what a strange, strange, strange world it is realizing he is currently amidst a dream of his own visiting other simultaneously slumbering people’s lives.
Fall descends! Displacing warmth with slowly biting cold kisses upon the cheek and over one’s extremities. Young Black sedan driven man’s Toyota music rediscovery ‘esplanade’ pounding out a decades old beat. The decades old constant drumming bringing back that other salt shaker in line when the inadvertent listener once knew that particular tune by rote. The volume pushed up so loud before the static traffic lamp that it buffets one like Jackie Chan kicking their ass! His thoughts have been laying down flat for the bulk of the week. A fucking living skeleton still aping human existence. Dead for all intents and purposes to the outside world. Chanting his Asian mantra barely audible. Nearly indiscernible. Trying to escape that ever tinier box called life. Strumming chords and PC chord progressions, trite and dated, having been forever played. In the shadow time of this era, it was not just the wooden puppets that wanted to be a real boy. Little girls trying to take that away too! Identity! Uniqueness! So fucking important! The more artifice applied like makeup to achieve it, the further into a faceless crowd one falls. Tourists in their own lands! Marveling at the falsehoods that they have been told. The magic box of elementary poisons. Nothing to wear! Not a single thing to believe in any longer. All used up! The empty cases discarded. These fucking ‘broads’ are all think they’re boys! There souls have been stolen and now they are just part of the furniture. A dead stick between their legs. Who will put this world aright? Certainly not its enemies that have been working overtime over generations to topple it! No longer that paucity of former friends on the other end of that warm piece of plastic blistering their palms. Hoping for the purring wetness bursting forth within the inert coldness of their extended hand. Modern Relationships. “Girls get what they want!” Boys get their unending frustration. CIVILIZATION? “Game Over!” Nothing left but King Rat! Jump head first into the bore hill and breath the shit into your lungs for a fast exist out. Who was originally accepting the proffer of, “Everything you ever wanted or dreamed of delivered to your door on a silver platter?” That yellow belly low down dirty rotten snake? Or the man who tended to the maidens? The world is your Apple TM. But sooner or later, it rots. That constant pound of jungle rhythms. Who would submit themselves to that? “You should!” You slave bitch! Both sides now scared by a rabbit.
Today he moped around. Making imagery that few if any seemed interested in. Exiled in public amidst others of my generation. Leached of all resources. Caught like a mouse in the same old maze. “My friend turned into a skeleton. Given up for dead. My other friends beset by useless trivial pursuit while the worst of humanity lights a fuse.” All this was on his mind for most of the week! The complacency of the children who just want to have a childhood. Mean man hating women who despise their own kind. What kind of society is this? There had always been talk of sorcery through the ages. Little could one imagine that it might come in the form of what was denoted as technology. Evil intentions of a few to capture the attentions of the entirety of their own species and control it like they might a lesser one. Directing the mind with images and sound to believe in things that weren’t there. And that had never existed. Myth built upon myth until these tales were lodged in the collective genes based on. The entire scheme demonic. Based on fear and envy.
Lighting the light to civil rational discourse comes at a price of being the eternal victim. You can’t have both! You can’t count on victories without encountering that unexpected defeat. The platform is waiting and the gibbet has you number. Grin and bear it and help others enjoy the show by playing your part. They had started as children and had ended up as adults. Substantially unchanged throughout by the process. Perhaps a little quieter without all the raucous? Who could tell. Now he was alone. A little more alone. His friend given up for lost. Just another face disappearing into the crowd of all the others that had been bustled away by the great healer of forgetfulness. Lost by the dark waters of exhausted imagination. Dispelled like a face in an angry pond. These were childish notions. He was a man in spite of all that. A man defined in the old sense of same. One whose armpits smelled and liked to sweat and wasn’t afraid to skip a meal not because of the look of his waistline but because some needful task demanded that it was necessary. Someone who wasn’t embarrased to put on three day old dirty work clothers without further comment. To crawl into that dirty world that no one else wanted to think of, much less be touched by. The world was run by the dregs of that part of general humanity that still considered itself human. Buggers and fairies and those with a sap in their back pocket who loved to hit a ‘square’ from behind just above the temple of his skull. Venal loathsome creatures that years of payoffs, graft and corruption had allowed to burrow past the back door screen.
He opened clogged drains in a manner of speaking. Rodded the sump of the worst that the culture could offer. One shot. One kill. One moment to completely disappear. And absolutely no remorse about it. That was how far down the evolutionary ladder the nation had fallen. The land had become a killing field. Those who harped about sporting raiment’s from the toil of others pretending ownership over all. The same old time worn game. Sooner or later left dead and half naked in their broken chariots several hundred kilometers lost int he wilderness. Left as an offering for the new conqueror. In the meantime, while their paltry necks rested outside the noose, seeing how much fatal mischief they could punish the planet with in the name of their own vainglorious avarice. Some lasting a month. Some lasting a century. All fallen into the hell fires of perdition fanned hot by their nearest rivals. There was no law for these worms that called themselves immortals. And no law to prevent them from being dispatched. King for a day after a night in the grove. Ambition and fame burned in the next harvest!
Such was the fate of the world. Blood seeding the ground so new blood could arise. Future generations transfixed by the same plight. The fatted cow of civilization. Ever to be slaughtered at maturity. It was impossible to see how this could be anything but obvious. If the gods had a face then it was Jupiter devouring his own kin. The sweet smell of Lilac and Lotus merely a cover for the stench of older bones long rank. The shovel and not the spear or gun being the most significant man made tool. How many more yet to be buried? The worms forever on holiday in this paradise! The ultimate folly of all those who believed millennia after millennia that anything had progressed. Nobility a dirty toga forever washed only to be soiled yet again. The willingness to embrace this simple fact making the difference in terms of those who lived on and those who disappeared as if they never were.
Orwell would have been proud. That is, if Orwell really admired his own sense of vision about the world falling into perdition. The worldwide system of communication that initially had been free of constraint. But now one had to fear that one would be secretly singled out and barred for some arcane reference to what those who ran and controlled the system might consider as “inappropriate“. News items both real and ersatz were daily broadcast on tributaries of the larger upstream news wires. Liberally documented with what appeared to be grassroots phone captured video footage peppered with high quality ‘mood’ photos. Material designed equally as much to confuse as to clarify. Cadres of ‘trolls’ up and down the stream of information muddying the waters with enthusiastic disinformation cast in negative emotions urging ‘knee jerk‘ animal response from the average viewer. Pick any rabble rousing era in history and compare the genius of employing the crowd dynamic of schizophrenic single-mindedness without the actuality of a physical mass of humanity standing beneath the same tree. The virtual victim handing their plucked rhetorically by the neck swinging before all. The mob stirring its ire and rebounding ot back and forth between anonymous sources. Some actual personages and others paid agitators of the state apparatus who egged on any so foolish as to let their pent up emotions fly forth into typed text. The robust mechanics of this unified system growing ever more voracious for raw data. Collecting, organizing and storing every aspect of what was so foolishly inputted. Assaying the time and frequency of keystrokes. Building dossiers of cross referenced preference to model the behavior of the faceless individuals based on time of day and the voraciousness of their actions in accordance with the category of latest event.
How foolish anyone was to abandon their accustomed modes of real world discourse with their fellows in favor of the promise of a larger theoretically more admiring audience. A figment of one’s imaginary ego bound desire to find and have universal acceptance with the fiction of others that thought and felt and acted in consort with their own supposedly unique point of view. The opposite of this situation of course being the case. Liberty, as it once was known had become a sham. The general population no longer willing to mount inconvenient notions into any form of ground level immediacy of physical conversation. Preferring instead the absurd antithesis of what was in fact completely monitored discourse with what was in fact an artificial avatar of the state. The streets and byways of the land growing quieter by degree as the masses of humanity chased their own tiny personal handheld devices. Their rapt attentions ever focused hopefully on the appearance some small byte of information or string of text from some remote unseen source with a familiar ‘handle’. A world enslaved. Removed physically from the waking world and thrust into a consensual illusion of daily accessible mass communication with the mental construct of a diverse and accepting multicultural audience. Who knew anymore if their pen pals were human or just artfully guided collections of electrical impulses following algorithms set up to recapitulate one’s own previous responses over inauthentic events that to one’s shock might have never occurred in the first place. The hint let out from on high every once and a while that this was indeed the case. That the whole experience was a trap. A stratagem devised to create mass hysteria and then study the reactions of the two legged public at large. Like rats condemned to the pernicious curiosity of psycho scientists forever changing the maze keeping them away from food and fraternity with their own kind. Cruelty and perverse intentions conducted all in the name of a soul crushing ever-voracious Babylonian Hebrew deity Moloch whose fires needed to be stoked minute to minute with fresh bodies and fertile minds. The offerings to this fire illuminated drawn from the personal commitment of the unwary not understanding the danger in so frivolously sharing their innermost thoughts with this infernal beast.
The collective entity of humanity counted and the sum total of their thoughts, hopes and dreams added up and then recycled back to them in some perverse form of twisted reflection advocating further abstraction from the self in promoting the purchase of highly prices useless articles to enhance the ‘realism’ of the experience. When in fact the merchandise was simply a more intricate form of mental encroachment promising everything to its new owner but delivering a time wasting enhancement of sequestering more minutes of devotion during the day to steal away one’s mind away from one’s self. Everlasting temporal fame and the most up to date membership with that imaginary elite lurking just below the surface of awareness of the growing obsession for satisfaction of the same growing like a cancer obliterating the normal personality expressing anything individual. The entire society de-evolving into insects nervously seeking out their own kind trying to find their hive. The monsters administering this system either completely blind to its eventual ramifications or so morally bankrupt to only acknowledge the thrill of directing so many hundreds of million lives with the casual touch of a few keystrokes. The notion of enjoying an absolutely unique self as once considered the most enervating element in existence now close to extinct. The age of parasites feeding on the soul of humanity now having progressed into full swing.
There had long been a notion popularly held by recent generations now just past that vampires are real and do exist. Manifestations of bipeds that lived following the herds of humans through time and space as a pack of wolves might have in the Eastern forests of middle Europe before they had been denuded by the sightless industry of man. Shape shifter’s by the intelligent design of the great nameless invisible creator of all, they had many odd and arcane powers that their punier humankind could barely imagine in dark nightmare disturbing rest. The lexicons of descriptive words the reigning babble of many parallel languages unable to fully describe their powers over their prey. Only in terms of the strength in numbers did hominid’s enjoy any sort of advantage. This consequence coming from the husbandry of their betters in their species being bred at large as an expansive herd. The tastes of their master’s leaning towards variety creating much duplication. There seemed to be no inherent danger to their breed from what was generally referred to by these self-congratulatory superior entities. Many of their foremost leaders kept larger estates manned by select members of them for the amusement of play and basic sustenance to be harvested. The roles that these unwitting mortal were found to be most useful in being servants. The greater delicacy generally agreed within the brood being not simply blood or flesh but the capturing of their life’s forces drained at the point of death through fear serving almost as a condiment. There was a natural loathing that was harbored by some bipeds based upon a certain unexpected level of biological evolution of awareness. Careful watch kept to make sure that this phenomena was not contagiously spread so as to make the larger herd unmanageable. To the uncrafted sensibilities of their breed any extended attempt at a larger realization of their plight defeated by socialization. The rules of society in the hands of their ‘betters’.
The supremacist merry-go-round. ‘Whites‘ were once on it. Then they were lobbied to let negroes and women on it along with them. Now the ‘Negroes‘ and women want the ‘whites‘ to sit at the back of the bus and get off on their election. All the while the ‘Jews‘ driving the bus pretend to support all by support none. Other passengers from different identities getting on and off any only briefly engaging in the rowe. Only their own nebulous claim to be both above all things. And of course, superior to them. Supremacy is an ego-trip. Those who indulge in it seem to puff up like a balloon that go sailing slowly to the upper atmosphere. At a certain point the bubble expands as the air pressure insides exceeds that of the outside. But the structural integrity soon is overwhelmed by the internal pressure of that ego and bursts. The best that the balloon can hope for it it has lost its attachment to common sense is to get caught at a higher altitude for a while and begin to loose air. Then slowly as that ego deflates it comes down gradually in a sagging sense of humility. Of course that occurs only on calm days. When the atmosphere is stirred up There is less likelihood that the balloon with survive the journey upwards nearly as far.
This seems analogous to the ancient Greek tale of Icarus who build his wings of wax and feathers. The closer to the Sun that he rose the mores the wax softened until the whole contraption melted away. The result being an inevitable falling back to take a fatally hard landing on solid earth. Popular Western culture is too enamored with the ‘self‘. Too smug and secure in the fact that for better or worse, nothing is going to change in their neighborhood anything soon. But like anyone caught by whimsy to step farther into topics they have no right to claim judgment about they overstep their limits. And in a society as overstuffed with everything including opinion, they are easily popped. The whole culture riding on the edge of the cliff of unavoidable chaos due to unproductive attitudes that will solidify into hatreds and quite possibly to bloody violent conflict. But over what? Who did what to whom several hundred million years back when no one now living could have ever been alive. The irony being that what is considered as the most accurate history being the province of the group considered most in power and actively scheduled by other ones for demotion. One’s opponents having to learn the dogmas of it’s opposites to attack it. More absurdly yet these same attacking groups needing to attempt to believe in their own collective fantasies that are at the same time both arcane and far afield so that they cannot bear any scrutiny beyond serving as an excuse for animal blood lust. Whatever they hope to gain from those that they consider as too dominant simply being destroyed. And everyone being the lesser for the exercise. That old adage of, “Cutting off your nose to spite your face!”, coming into play. No one able to be right because the popular harangues of the moment has made every other for of exclamation wrong. The mindless philosophy of a stirred up mob trying to find some mischief to get into so justify its ill feelings. Any and all scapegoats may apply.
Of course, seismic events do not simply occur from nowhere without someone behind the scenes expending an awful large amount of effort to get them going. The principle of finding a harmonic upon which to apply a scalar situation of discontent that effects all sides equivalently badly so that depending upon the point of view everyone is both right and wrong. The fact of the matter being that they are not in control of themselves in either way beyond simply being swept away in the prevailing stormy winds. Throughout history there are always certain groups that wait in the wings who have been born in the back alleys that seem to prosper on continued chaos. They take great lengths to not be called out in public as the instigators of trouble that they really are. Part of their art being to not only remove common sense logic from any discussion, but to convince any that might stumble upon their chicanery as crazy or unfair in their accusations countering their insiders innate behaviors. These are the human virus’s and parasites in no way different to that a similar species that affect both animal and man. Who is to ultimately blame? What can one say that over the long term it does not really matter. For to go beyond pointing out the roles taken by all and going on from that moment to deflate the egos of all to a reasonable size depriving them of the intake of further drama, there is nothing more that can nor need be done.
No engine of man in terms of an abstract governing body or popularly recognized saint of current reigning authority can take the place of the almighty of the fact that all sides remain pint-sized and minuscule before the insoluble mystery of the universe. Those simple questions of existence that the ego-bound would so easily hope to ignore and leave behind as they pump themselves up to escape same. You may think and therefore thou art? But can any in the crowd of those doing same collectively prove that their attempts are really more than just another passing fad or folly. In that ways mankind is it’s own worse enemy. The final judge being the inevitability of an inescapable ending to their tale. The story of every endeavor coming to a finite conclusion. That is what recorded history at its best can offer that those living only in the moment of their own folly cannot.
Hello all you traitors to your own kind! You will get what is coming to you. What you have strived and connived for all along. No holiday will mark your victory. No statue will be erected to your fame. They will all be gone torn down in the beautiful impossible dystopia that you have built with ash and rock fragments of the one that you so righteously ripped apart. The work of millennia erased because it did not fit with the trend of the day proclaimed on your I-phones. I hope that you rot in the universe that you are hell bound to create in your self-righteous fervor. You are working hard to deserve it. A master hand from behind the scenes is evident. Whites betray themselves. Defile their own kith and kin. They would rather be slaves to a false ideals. Than fight for their own kind. Than defend their own cause for survival. Blinded, brainwashed, by an embedded enemy that pretends to be a friend. But that is obsessed in wearing the crown of thorns of another. Obsessed by the tale of one of their own that they murdered so very long ago. A band of common cutthroats. Pretenders to the thrown. A deceitful scheming ever restless insurgent bent only by a hatred of the human race. That squats over the moral high ground like a jealous hen. It summons its minions fanning the hot flames in what is worse in them. Turning them into a pack of wild dogs. You can hear the pack barking in midday. No longer simply a nuisance at night. Those subverted by the sham of governing sit idly by shivering in their hutches like lesser hens. Concerned only with protecting their own nests. Of squatting indifferently while they fail their oaths of office with complete indifference. The will not survive. But de-evolve. Blacks cannot change! They still are enslaved. And prefer to remain so because, “da pikin’s is always good!” Shiftless beggars deserving of zero respect. They can never pull themselves up out o the pig pen poverty the so richly enjoy. What fun to exert their mercurial mindless violence and get away with it. The sick twisted mentality of getting what’s coming. The will. But it will be their end. They will be gone after the whites are. Hordes of barbarians babble in their graveyard tongues. Uncaring of anything but what is deemed as wealth. Come from afar to sack and pulverize all that they do not understand. Cannot understand. Were never meant to by the strictures of the lands that they were raised in. That they left. They are merely hatchling’s wrought of former guilt of those that they have come to consume. To cannibalize. Amazing how frugal and effective this unseen hand works! Turning one against another. Blood must be shed to bring all to their senses. But then it will be too late. The world will move on and civil society will lay in shards. In its place a hostile workhouse that will slowly replace humanity by the clock. Commodities only from cradle to grave. Genetically modified to not even care. To be happy like a mindless idiot. To be ready to serve and serve and serve at the push of a button. Robots in name. And worth nothing. Amazing how well decadence works. A lesson passed down from the universe to the lions of old. The hyenas will eat you. The roaches will devour the rest. The seven plaques of Egypt revisited. The same old story brought to you by the same old culprits. Go ahead and laugh! It’s your funeral.