Before she was to disappear forever, Atlantis sent out ships to all the corners of the earth. On board were the twelve – the Poet, the Physician, the Farmer, the Scientist, the Magician, and the other so-called Gods of our legends…
Most prominent of all was the Poet. There was not a politician among them.
I am not pointing fingers here; had I enough fingers to point. And what good is the pointing of fingers, anyway? That is for cowards, too afraid to act demonstrably. Blame is futile, when blame is glaring. Those who give a fuck are too cowardly to give a fuck. Those who do not, need not. If the backbone is faulty, defective, its core poisoned by the disease of greed, spreading to the very tips of the limbs of the organism it is thought to support; all accompanying systems, protections, but hypocrisies, wherein lies the blame? Could a finger be put upon it?
If the fruit is deadly, its lethality known, its hazard amongst the other plants of the garden, certain, surely one must kill the plant, down to its roots. Can that be done, though, in a country where the growers and the purveyors of the fatal fruit are hand-in-hand, pocketbook-in-pocketbook, and their leader but smiles at those so beguiled as to be tempted by, overcome by, seduced by the mortal snare? It can. It must.
The government of, by, and for the people has been surrendered to, usurped and squandered by a government of, by, and for big business, big money, and big lies. Surely, governments are elected and appointed, but a people strung out on false hopes, false promises, false liberties cannot help but choose poorly. Like all addicts, they choose those dealers with the best junk for the best price; unless they are desperate, in which case, any junk will do, at any price. Witness the emergence of Donald Trump.
The federal government is a major dealer, as is Wall Street, but the biggest dealers are the ones closest to the source. Toxic dependence requires toxic substances; toxic behaviour demands toxic conditioning; the toxic death-wish insists upon the denial, the delusion, the fallacy that anything better, more wholesome, more humanitarian, exists. Wall Street is the corporate slot machine, manipulating daily chemical reliance on gain, regardless of risk; encouraging the coveting and the theft of what is not yours, dismissing entirely the universal law that only that which is yours is yours in fact.
Big business and its unconscionably gained big money are at the root of the problem. They produce and market the poisons that keep the masses either subdued or hysterical.
Drug companies, advertising every medication sanctioned by federal, state, and local governments, selling dependencies rather than cures, foreswearing the Hippocratic oath, killing rather than healing.
Big agriculture, under government protections and sanctions, in bold contempt of healthfulness, produces the foods of mass consumption, foods toxic with genetic modification, preservatives, GMO corn and soy derivatives in every manifestation, foods that flatter taste but feed not, swollen insufficiencies swallowed as names of better things.
Fast food giants, thriving on American obesity.
The NRA, supported by big weapons manufacturers, applauding the selling of over-powered weapons to the weak, the majority, the masses, because sensible weapons of simple individual protection are too up-close and personal for any but the strong, the few. Big weapon, big truck; small dick, small mind.
The freedoms in the States are presumed to be given, granted, to all, equally. That is a fallacy. In the States, as nearly everywhere, one gets what one claims, what one takes. In the States, though, unless one contrives, conjures, enlists, dupes, or joins a majority, those claims, those supposed possessions, mean nothing.
Sadly, in reality, one’s freedoms in the States Once-United of America are not determined by the Constitution, but by the pocketbooks of those in power, and by their constituencies, just as sadly misguided.
Many of the strongest women and men were broken in their early lives. Scarred, but determined, now standing alone, each of them, raging defiantly, rebelling against all who would torment them – the duped majority and their despotic masters.
Most of the weakest women and men have never been broken. In fear, they fled their challenges un-ventured, cowering amongst the other impotent in group submission to every threat, both real and imaginary, sycophantic puppets of sinarchist autocracy.
Defeat is not enough for Donald Trump. Total ruination is not enough. Total destruction is not enough. The entire plant that bore his virulent fruit must be eliminated, eradicated, obliterated, down to its roots. Any who feel the least bit of sympathy for that pathetic waste of protoplasm, that virus of a man, profit of that illness of a plant, scourge upon the Earth, and upon all its inhabitants, deserve the same fate as he.
It is not too late, but nearly. Listen to your poets, your growers, your healers, your metaphysicians, your magicians… To hell – that place devoid of truth, wherever it is – with politicians.