You couldn’t tell the woman any different? She loved Asia. She wouldn’t here a bad word about it! The fact that she was from another culture half way around the planet possessing genes of Northern Europe had no bearing that she had visited there some years previous to see her daughter who it was told had brought the topic to light when as a little girl she unexpectedly embraced a desire to learn about all things Japanese. The mother as ll mothers do, fully enabling that penchant until her sibling was in command of several major dialects. A strange coincidence of fate that the two were self-described as survivors of abuse from particularly alpha male aggressive incidents. One’s that in the Liberal ideology of the time classed them as typical victims of the sort that the revolutionary set of Socialist minded were particularly fond of holding up to the world as victims of Capitalism and Caucasian cultures. Whatever was the causal nature of the political slant upon things, the part of Asian thar seemed to stay within the woman’s mind was one ruthlessly dominated by a historically treacherous form of Communism. One that had artfully switched its doctrine to a more modern form of ideological attachment with the masses through commercial expansion and materialism from the old mainstay of a theoretical focus on the worker in the factory and the farm worker int he field. These occupations transmuted to workers in concrete, pharmaceuticals, and microchips.
As women in every culture seemed genetically focused on the notion of their security being bound up with an obvious form of physical stability surrounding their midst, this transition seemed particularly attractive to the mother and her child. The accretion of all things modern and cutting edge in these places supplanting the mother’s allegiance to her own kind in favor of a form of hero worship that in so many ways rivaled her daughter’s actions in finding a husband and a nest in a less autocratic but no less structured land of Asian rule. The daughter remaining a compass point for the mother who now was waylaid back in the culture that for better or worse had originally embraced her. A siege mentality of sorts for any mother who in her later years only wishes to directly enjoy the maturation of her offspring. Hoping for the blossoming of the union to result in children to carry on the legacy of her womb.
With the unprecedented affair of the mysterious virus sired so it was initially reported by bats from the largest of Asian lands the world as a whole did what was only recommended in fairy books for children. It cam to a complete stop. Much controversy reigned as to the circumstances of what would become a debilitating plague affecting many generations to come. Was it a force majeur of a vengeful nature? Or given the universal fascination with all mechanisms of self-destruction, the result of a misstep of the land that it originally issued from? Though in the way of all things Socialist all information detrimental to malfeasance on the part of this homeland was rigorously suppressed and popular fiction supplanted in its place. The major institutions of other rival lands having long fallen under the spell of offshoring their vital goods to production facilities in Asia now held hostage to continuing falsehoods. The result being a Machiavellian geopolitical standoff where an act of war was never publicly acknowledged by governmental officials in private but strenuously denied on public airways. The Communists bullying the rest of the world to accede to covering up the intentional harm that it had laid down upon the rest of the entire world. The result of a smouldering powder keg armed to the teeth just waiting to explode into total planetary meltdown of human civilization the moment anyone dared light a match to bring light to the reality of the truth of the situation.
The woman blamed her own country and those both corrupt or well-intentioned for all ills and the decline while reveling in the illusory utopia of the land that was actually responsible for the decline. Belief as always being stronger than any fact offered by those individuals and institutions tasked with the careful study of such things. “Conspiracy Theory!“, she would rail if anyone else would dare to offer a view that differed with the way that she saw it. A strange sense of irony vested in the fact of what had sometime before been labeled a syndrome of behavior manifested in Stockholm, or the association with that place, where most ironically those who had suffered significant trauma would be inevitably be drawn to others most adept in doling out abuse. It was not just her, of course, that was susceptible to this international pied piper’s all too seductive illusion of a perfect realm that offered a safe and clean perfect existence to be gained by simply handing over the stewardship of you independence and identity to a totalitarian hegemony. The struggle of centuries by the satrap minded ancient elites prone to the notion of humanity outside their class being subject to their every whim. What couldn’t be won by flattery, or the gun could be pared down into submission through disease. The true opiate of the masses in an indifference to face up to the jumble of sorting out fact from pleasant fiction and confront same.
It was only those that through an equally obsessive character to expose these leaning, that such skullduggery ever reached the surface of a few that would listen. The rest of the herd known as humanity asleep to their own regards as it had always been and now it seemed would always be. That faroff call of Camelot or Gotterdamurung ever wafting in the air like the smoke of the rubble of so many uncounted previous civilizations long forgotten in the past. It’s incense too hypnotic to raise all from the love of the taste of lotus. Preferring to drift into deeper sleep revisiting the time before the present when the promise of perfection seemed more immediate. The sight of an eternal number of empty quiet sunny morning Sundays. The wide of expanse of bright and shiny modern highrises brightly lit in the twilight like cyclopedian tall grass glimmering at dusk. All magnificent, but now totally empty, bereft of habitation in this now all too perfect land