Thud! The sound of a falling body hitting the canopy at the bottom of the World Trade Center tower, yes, the falling silhouette of a body twitching spastically in the air, fighting gravity in the final moments of his life, permanently etched in our consciousness, looming like a silent scarecrow in our dreams, emulsified in a puddle of his own bodily fluids.
Splat! Like dropping a watermelon from a very high place, splattered on the pavement. What made him jump? What was so unbearable that freedom became that 10-second fall to oblivion in his final moments, an act preferable to being roasted by a direct energy weapon a thousand feet above the unforgiving Manhattan pavement?
Or like the mother in Maui assured by blasé firefighters that the buildings were cleared and everyone was safe, then coming home finding the body of her young son clutching the family dog, his crumbling little corpse still smoldering in the rubble of the lie of America’s torpid future and its hideous past.
Why weren’t they talking about these things in America’s wretched presidential debate last night? Why weren’t they talking about the phony wars America inflicts upon the world for the purpose of the pustule of profit that motivates America’s curdled politicians, as they smile grimly at you while they cravenly beg for your vote?
Why weren’t they talking about the leering litany of lies that comprise American history never taught, ever couched in ridiculous tales of virtue signaling about a fictitious enemy we created ourselves in order to convince everyone our government was helping us to live when the sorry fact is that it was always aiming at our untimely termination.
So the painted clown face of the human race stares back at us from the mirror of our dreams as we watch their latest sales tales unfold. The stare turns to a glare and then the glare to a leering grin at the story they spin that these fires they create by beams from above that turns the human future into a giant cinder that they blame on something called global warming that is really only a fairy tale to herd humans into a giant corral where they can be properly controlled, efficiently processed, purposefully sedated and recklessly exterminated so that richest among us can live peacefully on their plantation of perverted pederasty.
Human cattle herded toward a slaughterhouse. This is human history. We cannot escape it as long as we continue to lie about who we are and what we’ve done.
Think you’ve got it all worked out? All you can really choose is the manner of your death. Except that now the men who have gathered so much cash that don’t have to worry about being refuted have decided to choose it for us, as they light a backfire against the wind that is going to immolate our future in the flames of our own curdled karma.
And the affluent smirk at the utter powerlessness of we pathetic useless eaters. They look at us with total contempt, like those barbaric black thugs who beat up defenseless white haired ladies for fun, and spit on them. “What are you going to do about it?” they growl in the snickering sadism of their own ignorance, trying but failing to kill their own deaths, but quite satisfied at inflicting ours.
Out of the pit of darkest night wafts the signature phrase of Edgar Allen Poe’s tortured comment about human hope. “Quoth the Raven — nevermore.”
And now the latest news from Dave Connors firstname.lastname@example.org
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