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...Not a new story that just came to me, as I sit on hard chairs, and I read I'm not free. These are charges of thievery, graft, and corruption ... the right writes their *writ*, and assures our dysfunction!
They're less than contrite with us; they destroy hapless families; they rob and they maim helpless folks—sheer insanity! This nation we love, in surreal dissolution, it is fraught with cold terrors at our top institutions!
Constitutions, as writ, are spat upon jokes to be used and abused, silken ropes around throats? They are tools of the mighty to be used when they're necessary... when convenient, or useful, or expediently arbitrary?
They're to hide flying lights moving low on horizons who have "lights" of their own far beyond my describing! They are playing with secrets that spawn all the craziness... you'd refute if you knew it... ...and that's why they're betraying us!
Now most will not care in their drive to live lives that they work pretty hard for... ...but may learn to despise. We are ruled by the hatreds gladly fanned in our "churches" ... we are scared and upset, and our fear is discursive.
We look at the "few," but we're told we see many. Distracted—bedeviled, we're shorted our pennies. The *right* won't help out when it comes to the sharing; though their mansions are built by the ones who starve... ...staring!
As we pray for our *gub'ment*, say, to "run off them faggots," but want its retreat when we'd spawn our detritus! Imposing our will when it complements business, but betraying the trust when we're called to be generous!
As they mask and they hide their fine mess of choice secrets, the watchers continue to tease and entreat us. ...But at the whim of that... "man"... to be born, work, and die ... we're *secure* in our rut, so, not watching the sky...
The man — all the while laughing, and having fun at your expense—able to "play" because you "pay"—knowing you're a fool (and worse), so programming your children not to be the leaders in the "new century." He'll play bait and switch with all manner of anomaly. He'll drag you back and forth across the line of credulity so hard and so often that you doubt the validity of your own reality, reality as smeared as that aforementioned line...
The knowing, finally, is a foundation that won't shift beneath your feet. You look up with a hard new eye, see the unending expanse of the misty *always was*—and ask the question, …not why, but, "When"!
When will you have the pitching deck secure beneath your feet, and a real "star to steer by"? It's then you'll have your "why."
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