Monday, December 03, 2018

Karmic Impact


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For a moment the clouds were an unsullied white, 
even shadows... a silver brightness.  
Too, the smell of sweet Earth promised looming rebirth—
if rushed, so before, "Karmic rightness."* 

These too early timings of scents and Earth colors... 
...bespeaks to an arduous future discovered? 
A "physical" non-mystical?  Some "impermissible" statistical? 
...Made worse by self-interested—importuningegotisticals?

Still, birds fly in twos all a' squabble, absolved—
What's real for them is enough.
On the strength of their genes,
they don't find it obscene 
to revel their feelings. Real *stuff*.

The sky is a veil, the deepest of blues; 
washboard-like clouds are as harp strings
they're listening now as these clouds moan and sing. 

This song of the Earth who has watched come and go 
many traces of life—truly more than we know! 
...A song with its "treble" so deep in our "bass"? 
It's as "over your head" as it's "up in your face"!

This is the world some pretend *understood*. 
This is the world that we're "taught" is not *good*. 
This is the planet we sully in ignorance; 
this is a planet we treat with belligerence. 

Why... this is a planet infested with parasite; 
ignorant memes with an odorous blight! 
Small in all memory, ever shorter in mind, 
contriving to cheat hapless folk it's consigned?

Call me crazy, lacking relevance ... but there's "stuff" in our skies 
that the man is disposed from! He demures; wonder why!
Consider the man who officiates "muckery"
and sense a salvation well-masked by his ƒüÇk€®ý!

Whenever that's happened? ...From our dimmest hoary past? 
Then there's something he's been hiding, and we find out at the last
...Like "fossil fuels" to help him keep your neck beneath his foot
See, forget the "better battery," it's preferred you're "underfoot."

It's the corporate boys at Burger King, 
in need of fresh lucre—to live like old kings— 
though millions will suffer producing the beef... 
that are "burgers and fries" for your Friday night's *treat*.

These are the guys, then, befouling the temples 
they've built from the sweat of your brow. 
These are the guys who've hidden real secrets 
recovered at last, about now?

These are the guys who can look in their skies 
and *know* they're the "favorite of God" to survive! 
These are the guys who are living sweet lives 
while producing their jealous God's nod I despise!

These are the guys, I entreat, I implore! 
These are those threatened ...by our own Johnny Ford!

***
...And the sky gives up no warning of a coming time of strife 
for those who think John rabble... ...bet your money—bet your life! 
John Ford is not the charlatan; he's a "straight-up dude" instead, 
and in truth, he's lost just everything …likely wishing he was dead.




"Heat a frog in water…"
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They miscalculated with John—John started to hop before the water got too hot! They had to spank him. This is an easy accomplishment for those without a conscience, those too conveniently conflicted by a misunderstood Machiavelli or misinterpreted Darwin... ...those at the receiving end of a cultural largess they become accustomed to as a right. An errantly justified imposition of the divine right of kings... wrong then, wrong now.
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See, "Devine Right" is bat cack! Devine right is by no means a right! This is because it is NOT right, bunky—shallow klasskurtxian swine! Beslubbering cant-monger. Infectious ill-breeder. Clown of intellectuality! Stop any internal dialogue. Don't dare to defend a divine right to me! 
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I'd live to see the last *priest* twitching at the end of a long rope made from the entrails of the last *king*! Precious little hyperbole there, reader.
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...See, you just don't get to live in a manner enjoyed by the *nobility* when there is just one person you have to impose upon, unasked and mal-informed, to maintain your *lifestyle*. Who pays so you can play? 
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The heeded answer to that question will get your mind right again, pilgrim. Hell, it's all evil from bananas to soccer balls—through running shoes and a bogus food pyramid. It doesn't have to be that way. It matters. It all matters. You should have to pay to play.
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Living a lie takes its toll, doesn't it. Physically, mentally, spiritually... "Satisfactually" (sic). Don't pretend to argue.
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Unappreciated tolls of extreme insentience include the obligatory "driving away" (the reader would be driven away!) of *those* who are suggested by Dr. Drake's completely shocking, but illuminating equation. That equation makes us suspect! That equation suggests it's us so repellent. That equation implies we're quarantine-able? 
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Truly, our complacent denial of that equation makes us unworthy of the tiniest concern or remotest consideration by *those suggested*... What would we do with regard to a confrontation with ourselves, one wonders. Our history as regards our encountering one another is something less than optimum.
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Finally, our complacency will most certainly lead to an eventual despair as we are reviled and left alone to stew in our own toxic, ironically self-inflicted, juices... ...you know? That hell on Earth we seem hell-bent upon legislating for ourselves?! Verily, we won't be ALLOWED off-planet given our psychopathic monkey-behaviors! 
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Truth revealed? Sarcastic circuitry meltdown is narrowly averted, at last?
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"Bother," said Pooh... ...they may even steer a big asteroid down the throat of our greedy gravity well just to put us out of our obnoxious misery!
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Restore John Ford! It'll lessen Karmic impact later on, I suspect.
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*Spring came early, and it was unsettling for that... like it feared the coming summer...