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| Sometimes it's not what you're looking at, it's what's watching you... |
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Bottom line? You're* unconvincing, authoritarian, and use flat thinking! What you call your "bearing facts" ASSUMES your views are valid, Jack, and assumptions are, then, what they WOULD be—that ass that's made of you and me.
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Your "proclamation with a sneer" betrays the tap root of your fear, that non-admitted holes abound within the premise you propound. Your errant premise, its inculcation, provides for utter degradation, while you distract us from our wounds... that you discount and then impugn.
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Conspiracy's a monster you would hide or call impostor, but if power and control are there, then there are those who'd TAKE that dare! I'm not your strict "believer," friend, so I won't pay your freight—comprende'?
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Too, I won't buy what YOU sell, either; you're "Danish fish." I need a breather.
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See, you prosecute your "tick-turds" gladly, spin the facts and dervish madly—convince us all that what we're seeing CANNOT be what we're believing. Though there is *more* than what you offer, volunteer, propose, or proffer, and I must call your smirking bluff! I'm quite fed up. I've had enough!
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You don't make the slightest dent in what I'm seeing we must spend... to do real work and NOT pretend... but YOU won't even LOOK! Get bent!
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In its place your whistled catcalls, errant hooting, mocking pratfalls, your "cheap shot" shooting, faux support and profits made you don't report...
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See it's you who keeps the lie alive! You fake the truth—you have contrived—and you have stained a strained credulity casting your aspersions (..!.) truly! A living lie is what you use to keep an edge—that you abuse—and all to keep us on your meter, paying levies. You foul creature!
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Frankly, you're a toxic boor, a cad who should be shown one's door. You embarrass education, you're reproduction's abdication—you won't call a spade a spade; we'd live outside the lines you've made.
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You sell a soulless, useless brew of sharp derision—glad abuse. Too, what does obfuscation do but compliment your sad excuse! All your aims are systematic, inculcated—autocratic; the status quo is what you've had to keep *your* treasures close at hand.
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Consider Gingrich bopping pages, but while critiquing Clinton? Nation! *Mourning* "death of all morality," he slides it IN... ...why won't you see? Hypocrisy in leaps and bounds, banal pretense so unprofound.
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It's YOU, like this, with UFO's! You KNOW that something "flies" and "glows," yet, you find *ways*—pretend it's final ... blow your smoke and make denials. Interpret facts as you would have them, proclaim soft *facts* to keep us guessing—add some shred or bit of truth to sell agendas you intrude.
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Soon it is that you're found out, and then we'll see what you're about. We will find what you have hidden—take Tesla out of his derision, read the books that Hancock writes as textbooks that just might be right!
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We would open "hanger doors," we would search your "hallowed" floors, we would see what's been so secret, you've abused your privilege—SEE it! Mysteries interred in churches. Histories bereft of searches. All that's lost and what we'd covet, hidden in "the master's" pocket. We all know how that must end. Piano wire? Well, that depends...
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We would open wide the shades that keep us stupid, scared—betrayed. We'd expose those unelected scabrous thugs now undetected—living more fulfilling lives, we'd soar and cleave from what's despised!
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You will come to know you're through, your time's run out and leaving you... ...to stew in juices you once used to torment those who you'd abused. I'm glad to say you'll suffer shame, and more when you're then shown your blame.
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Plain it is, you better start (to break it loose) or come apart. Do it now, you filthy stealthy, aging *bad* news isn't healthy.
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Come clean now and save yourself the slings of *fortune* talked about. I'm betting you'll procrastinate, and do "too little" much "too late." There's little hope you see some light, and do your part to put things right...
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So I await your glad demise, then watch our starry, starry skies. They, at least, admit some truth: that time and space are monstrous, HUGE, and all that is imagined happens—plus the lot that's not... imagined.
*You know who you are.
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