We Cannot Ride to Battle –

We Cannot Ride to Battle –

We live truly in a society of victims, and often the victimizer is an extenuation of ourself promising to be the hero we require. Our governments gaslight us all. As far as I truly know other than reports from screens and books I’ve read by ancient historians and modern , the various places on Earth might not even exist.  My reasons for killing people on them exist even less. My reasons for killing anyone more and more strike me as non-existent and the need to defend such a thought the highest foolishness, a thought I’m merely translating from my combination of Tolstoy and Thoreau, Seneca etc.

But you have been put far away from the trouble as if you weren’t the epicenter. And no you never wanted this, but if you woke in the middle of beating a small child with your fists and wondered at what you were doing would you not stop? Or would you continue to beat them while you rationalized the occurrence ? So too, should one apply themselves with compassion to the world and our brothers and sisters contained within it, prisoners and freedmen like ourselves, no different, merely tongue movement and voice box alteration, our genetics so similar that if we all died and left the globe, we would merely fertilize it with the exact same amount of chemicals per human.

I cannot live without my screens now though, the hook is deep. I like you, am no different. i find myself chanting the mantras I’ve been fed, suffering from delusions of the glory of sacrifice, for an organ of central control.

But did God not make it apparent with Abraham and Isaac that our sacrifices were unnecessary (aside from the poor Ram whose head was caught in a thicket) , that our deaths before god were unwanted? As Pascal states, a lot of the old testament as we call it is figurative, many of the battles spoken of represented as spiritual and physical incarnations of failure (having to kill the ultimate failure) and the books written by men are filled clearly with the competitive nature of men, and clearly they are written by men for men who asked them to write them. This is what we use as a litmus?

But what do you do? Today i take my boys to the school, there they will pledge to a flag i know the meaning of all too well, as it means what all flags mean, control over those who stand beneath it as it waves.  I too have been trained. I was at Ft. Benning when we began our wars in the Middle East and never stopped, I was in the vanguard of people lining up, i would have never joined had i not some patriotic inclination, and my other quieter motivation was to see this “enemy” up close , see his world so different from mine but the same. In retrospect i am glad of my falling out with the military, not that I’m a coward in the sense of running from bullets ( though this is logical in any and every circumstance) but I am a coward when it comes to killing men at the order of a fool i don’t even trust to run a region of land, let alone a battle or the reasoning behind one.  I knew something was wrong when we were all united on issues which should have caused division. When we forgot about racism ( not because it wasn’t happening) and began armament ( and never stopped).

My son stood at the door while I lectured him on the fact that we have no real boundaries other than economic and those are for convenience of reference rather than in  a real sense. They apparently teach that these boundaries are solid, as if vaster and dumber gods lifted walls to separate people into both fantastic and shitty spots. We both had a laugh, kids can be so real, men , women, so defensive, gotta keep those feelings of righteousness going. I mean hearing ” You bomb the shit out of kids on a daily basis, like no lie, pay taxes for it without question because you can order shit from Amazon” is a hard thing for an adult to hear but a reasonable thing to a child who isn’t locked in a grid of subservience as of yet, merely in training for such, by my sanction, fucking hell.

I watched children fold a flag, i thought of all my ancestors who died for it and rather than giving the flag the credit i gave their dead spirits the love they deserved by according them the reality of the situation of the falsehood of a colored flag meaning something about them.

I tell you the greatest war you will fight will always be among your own people. Jesus isn’t the only person to have thought similarly but he is correct, a prophet is most hated in their hometown. No one welcomes a truth sayer, all welcome a huzzah man, a liar and beast, willing to make loud noises , fill you with the drunken spite of hate that feels so pleasant when its on! But when you’re in a trench with lice on your dick, it seems so much less realistic, and patriotism the self supporting idea of fat nations, of fat men, fatly being fat on the skinny of others. I doubt your grandfather told you of the fields of furrows sewn with dead men and living simultaneously, he was too embarrassed. Why wouldn’t he be? His explanation was a mere shrugging of shoulders, “These men said to me i must do the thing i did far away but now we have made a movie and it is time to move on, now men in Germany are our friends, don’t ask why they ever weren’t i know nothing of such, i merely fired the gun.” . And so we shrug ours.

Forgiveness is in order, a world healing. A coming to terms with our ability to love, a sheathing of our opinions and our hate.  For the planet cannot support such beings, and will not, as we our learning.

Control those who seek to legislate you into apathetic numbness, those who have insulated you from truth to their own benefit.  Tear down the walls they’ve erected, let us begin anew.

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The Infamous Thing

The Infamous Thing

Ill tell you true why i write this. One day i will die, and i know not the day, and what i have thought will die with me but these pages and they only a while. For nothing is permanent.

I write this because it must be said, because i am possessed by nature itself to say what is true of it, for it has so few defenders and often they are misguided, they defend themselves thinking they defend reason.

I write this because men still fight in armies and never ask why. Because Men still state the will of god with one hand and caress the bodies of underage boys with the other.

I write this because no one in power wants anything but power and all of them who say otherwise are liars or blind. I write this because i am not afraid of anything man can do to me, i write this because my sons must know their father though not a wage earner a believer in the system which they needed to uphold their little bodies from starvation, was not a madman, but that the world is mad, and they must not consider it true, never, not for an instant. I write this because i will have no part in slogans from any group for I am one man and i live my own way. I write this because id see all men free. I write this because i can buy a blood diamond up the road at four different stores. I write this because the system is truly Evil and i walk among it and keep my mouth shut, because if i didn’t write about it….id scream until i was blocked away in a dungeon in a gatehouse near the Kennedy sex tunnels under the Whitehouse( that mixture of architectural monstrosities).

I write this because i am no longer afraid, i have unidentified sicknesses in my cells, what else can be done to me? Why not cure the world while dying of what Doctors call apparently nothing.

So let us pose  this question? How free are you, truly consider it. Every social media outlet i have observed with this in mind has been the rattling of chains, people getting hundreds of likes, their sickening but forgivable humanity ostracized making life into some kind of endless suicide. Im no Freudian, but i suppose its because i didn’t have to repress my sexuality to such a degree that i inveighed all of my theory with it.  I do however ascribe to the idea of a workable framework of psychological consensus amongst groups of men who are truly the only ones who know what they are talking about and therefor the only ones who can say ” This means this.”  …..If a theorist dies in a forest does his theory die? etc.  Ex: are you so free that the oddity, discombobulation and fractious way I’m writing this bothers you not at at all?

Are you free enough to know these are words, your flags fabric, but your fellow breathing mammal brothers: the flesh and blood, with ribcages rising and falling slowly in their rooms just like you who we bomb everyday, and i mean everyday in an endless war to support a machine which is out of control. Are you free enough to recognize that? And you Christian? You are no such thing, in a way Nietzsche was right in saying  ‘ the last christian died on the cross’ , as no one has represented him as they should since he died, even saints are filled with misunderstandings of reason, most of them mad. I say also Christian, you are no Christian if you embrace the killing of a man over the words on a table far away by two men with two different mascots. I call you children. I welcome your differentiation, for i know God must be on my side otherwise he is the Devil and all is for naught.  Atheist, you do not escape derision. You have made a religion of belonging and a sense of undeserved intelligence seem a good and ok thing. You have created an idea of science as finished, and therefor embrace a clearly and presently false dogma. How much more dogmatic  the man who invents reason and says it is beyond you to understand it.  How much more intelligent is he who insults the beliefs of another because he has no argument other than his convictions ( without evidence all can agree upon in a way that is inherent ethically) which mean nothing and die with him like the wind.  I accuse all of you of being false. Including myself, myself most of all. Ill head the pack. I beg the Grace for our actions. In my mind i see dead children, mounds of bone, blood, factories filled with screaming cows and hammers and men in plastic suits, this world is a nightmare and it is all unnecessary.

How long will we sit by and watch fools misallocate things?  Acting as if it is merely the whim of fate rather than the very hand that our wants and needs guide, like a machine doing wrong which we manipulate from afar and therefor distance ourselves emotionally from. But nevertheless the machine is ripping, tearing, gnawing, leaving detritus and nothing in its wake, and the nothing mirrors us, resembles us. The furrows it digs for the crop it wishes to raise our vile, and its sickening bloom is overwhelming us. It, We, All, can take no more.  I refuse this commerce, i shit on this industry, i laugh at this dogma and i spit in the face of the lie called politics and majority rule. The irrational trying to explain itself is often the gloved fist of an implement of power in a dark room asking questions to things it will never hear for its ears were designed only for lies.

I am sick from thinking / writing this. It is like I’ve battled myself, seen my reflection in my accusations too often, am unable to walk away without a vast sense of culpability for i and my path are the hand on the pistol grip, and the pen in the fat red fingers of the human scratching a signature across another amendment of injustice to reap subtly across the land.

In such instances, one either dies, takes a stand or goes insane over time. There is nothing more to say on this from me for now.

 

 

Guess Ill just Die?

Guess Ill just Die?

I grow weary of the majority. They have never justified their wants by being vaster and consuming more space.  The minority which despises ignorance and hate, needs to take their chance, short of advocating an actual revolution, i can only advocate a complete and utter revolution. And an education of the ills of the republics to all.  The majority is only the majority because they have allowed themselves to attain such a clunky ungracious label.

Terms like basic bitch “imma”, ” when you….and your…”, “blank look like they about to drop the hottest blank of 2018”,  recycled memes losing their flavor with each negativists approach to make funny the ills of our symptomatic ape society attempting electronic sublimation.

Why wouldn’t we want to burn all this down. On literally all points of the globe suffering is happening on such a scale that it cannot be reversed, and not long from now we will all be dead. This is not a hypothesis. This is a fact, a fact you won’t face ( i mean you’re gonna die) or I but our grandchildren, and i’ll deserve every curse my genetic legions fling my way.

I am the benefactor of the landfills unemptied, the smokestacks blackening their sky of stars, satellites making the leaving of orbiting materials more difficult, space trash falling willy nilly , thrown out plastics, overabundance of certain animals and the entire species of death of limitless others. How would you not curse such a one, who sat and read and had coffee while this happened in his vantage, his very backyard, the time he lived in.

The dystopian novels written badly by people with no ethics flood the shelves, self fulfilling prophecies for the semi-literate guided only by the morality of their flesh.

Ash

Ash

The advent, the fizzling out of things, the falling apart of base infrastructures,

the last exhalation of  a dying monster, the acidic crust formed at the edges of arctic pools, as improbable as us, this, all of it.

they tell me tonight i will build a fire, around it go the traditions of a billion beings, a repetition unknown, a record playing endlessly, never hearing itself but moving in the same grooves nonetheless.

and today or many days later i woke and watching the sun rise the poetry died on my lips, and language slipped in a pool at my feet like a silk dress fallen swiftly from the shoulders of a woman giving herself away unabashedly,

and the umber burst of light between trees made the branches look like the veins in a hand of some higher being, and it stung to breathe in such an atmosphere of beauty,

a crane gathers itself in the morning on the fog ridden water of the pond, eating at the mollusk upon the shore, it is a  grey : the light which shrouds it like a pall,

Matinetanal: of the dawns neutral breath,

Now it is a drunken Schubert night, the novembral urgings of the autumn smoke smells in the coal smothered sky ride high on the primal needs of ours and us.

Downtown in the grey light the shadows from the silhouetted false heroes in front of the court house fall short of their meaning, the homeless smell of rust and yearning, hushed and flushed away by the police, they always patrol the streets, its impossible to not feel ragnarok, the essence in the blood is one of fear of punishment and or wrong clearly being done and nothing but vapor as our reaction.

High rise men in high rise suits burgeoning and groping towards their own false destiny grapple us in their wake, power men in idealized suits give speeches they are expected to give, people who shouldn’t bow, bow as they are expected to bow.  Broken court etiquette : an aping of Versailles fashion, the subtle excess more disgusting. The figures incalculable the wealth so vague and small, almost below numbering.

in the slow writing of this i have been four men, one who hates and doubts, one who calculates and smears his own name, one who begs for the publics approval, and myself who is none of these.

a new bone spur has formed on my shoulder like an accusation, i can hardly walk, but it is bearable, all things are bearable when the attitude is found to tolerate. people are concerned but i shoulder my shortness of breath, the agony of tendon meshing against bone and the blood in my spit and i make them models of forbearance and i walk rather than crashing to my knees and committing some mighty/weak seppuku. I also complain a lot but mostly i handle things as if they were mine to have chosen, as if i stood on a corner and begged for diseases to cripple me so i could get out of various social situations.  I am a building crashing down invisibly.

I beg forgiveness for my doubt. May i be vanquished by love and replaced with a truth of self i know nothing of yet.

 

 

 

 

On Ethics

On Ethics

Ive spent my entire life fighting a passive and quiet battle against evil, so have you, so have we all.

For the record philosophy isn’t a family trait, or at least not to the degree which i wish to pursue it. By some in my family it is considered unnecessary and as these men are happy i say by all means attend to your wants. Who am I to say otherwise?  For men like my father an ethical code long established in his heart has served as a guidepost which makes the reading of most philosophy merely the reinforcement of a known ideal yet to find wordy fruition, often upon hearing a quote i would read to him he would merely nod in recognition as if i had repeated something etched in his brain like a petroglyph only waiting to hear it for it to spring to life, come off the wall so to speak. To others like my brother it is a plague like mine, a plague he gladly picks up and puts down, both a burden to bear and a mitre to swing Bishop like at the antithetic vileness of the worlds lack of concern for itself.  We stand as witnesses to a crime committed on a vast scale, some days it is tolerable, other days it is not, hence philosophy.

May it also be said that philosophy is a luxury. But though a luxury, it is not passive nor is it pleasant.  If it is, you are doing it wrong or you have done it long enough to see what its about.  By this i mean you have reached the semi-senility of peace achieved by no longer requiring certitude and absolutes.

It is however the only luxury one reaches for and finds, ever present, always, a breath of God or Cosmos, a panacea for the modern woe( which is the woe of all man through all time as modernity is merely present hood and ever present) , a gift unasked for: unwanted. The only one which time will not decrease, which men cannot take away, which cannot be chained or killed, nay even maimed for it is more than truth, it is mans defense of the idea that something is true.

Though we haven’t the width of nomenclature or skill of love to figure it out as of yet. The  “As of yet…” is the interesting the part. The raison d’être of the entirety of thoughts on ethical existence, the basis of morals etc.  Even fools wake up hoping, even if they do not know they are hopeful. Even the faithless are faithful as each day they wake with the idea that they would wake. Inferring and exacting from us what must be exacted, all is an act of faith whether it be philosophical, spiritual, or scientific. Which in all honesty are merely tools on a swiss army knife of reason living in accordance with nature not as we want it to be, but as it is.

They’d have us all shot gladly. No one in a position of power smiles with any true benignity upon the vast thinkings of men who laugh at their boundaries and call them as they are, unreal limitations set upon the limitless. When all is a belief in an idea, a unity forced (so to say) by mere association with a warm feeling which is acknowledged to be merely that. Rather than an actual existing natural brotherhood: an ethical setting forced upon one and all, to adhere to, be allegiant to!

When one laughs at this and those who believe and uphold it, one is and always will be in danger, and “A Danger”.   Even now i feel a traitor, my children go to the same public schools which programmed me like so much fodder when i should have been raised by Jesuits, or in some Montessori atmosphere, everyone should. This vast stamp or cast which they wish to mold all of us in must begin at this larval stage, a lie slowly told seems to become truth.  I hid in libraries on adderrall reading Solzenhitsyn and Chekovs stories, everyones stories, speeding, cursing my fellow inmates, never knowing the pressure mounting in their skulls was the same as mine.

The fear all too real of school and its initiation process is so blithely accepted by us that i feel myself ashamed for having gone along with it while raising my own sons. The only cure is to teach ethics and all that matters at home. Raise rebels (refer to Camus’ essays on Rebellion) with an honest and just cause, quiet infiltrators of compassion, tools for a future that is ethically bound to its people and its mission statement of truth and freedom. The public facilities we believe nurture and enunciate the nuances of freedom, are the shackles on the legs of the titan of liberty.  The laws which elongate and grow so wearisome, so that lawyers multiply in the dark like fungi are an insult to the very essence of freedom, and we , we so lazy and easily lulled by the “door out” ( see Epictetus) which is democracy, and limited freedom have stopped here. We have said ” Ill have this freedom but overmuch of anything is bad, even truth…” I shit on all such sayings and capitulations.

How did we come to this? How do we come away from this? Men speak of evolution but I’ve yet to see evidence of it in our societal attitude or in our way of conducting our affairs which gives me dim hope of any prolonged stewardship of the Earth. I see a hungry end. An angry end, an globular expulsion of us.

A brown study ad infinitum.

But all things must end. To believe they have no end is what gives us the fear, not their ending. Being brought forth came naturally to you, being called away shall be the same. Embrasure of a mixture of ethics of this sort, along with the relatively mundane societal oddities and barbarities, is a must, if one is to survive in times of  seeming safety. A time of witches burnt quietly , book’s pages erased and re-written: unnoticed by an overly narcoticised population.

Humanity is so integrated it has become leviathan itself and screams it proudly ( as a creature in its death throes seems a celebrant). Only time will tell, but i believe as a system, Man fails utterly to adhere to his own ethics and all of his civilizations are iterations of this lack.  Ours as much as theirs. The fact that we have yet to get to a point where “ours” and “theirs” is not an odd concept, when much could be everyones but mere circumstance, not providence but human intervention, ceases the happening of it. It is like being a plague victim who never dies. To be a witness silently to all which occurs is modern mans burden. The limited scope of past life set men free from the burden of the true level of the mass of guilt man’s shoulders bear , and oddly without shyness , he (modern man) totes them aside his accomplishments, as if “acquisition” was a synonym for “forgiven”.

I am glad my sons do not ask of the nature of landfills or toxic pits where go the things we flush far away ( or close) for I could not explain, no half ass excuse, no belaboring of my ancestors with the guilt of crushing the atmosphere of the present would be true, i am inactive, as inert as a substance awaiting a catalyst to become valid.  I take vitamins everyday now, but i stare out of the window and I know  it is not in accordance with normalcy for the red of electric lights to blot out the night sky, nor is it normal for my children to know nothing of stars and for my understanding of them to be so rudimentary.

Around high in the air , in the black of the semi-country nights i see the Space Station. Men of peace orbiting a globe of oddity, it is not they who are strange, all return changed for the good, questioning the very basis of such earthbound thought, even mine, so filled with self concern strikes me as feeble: the attempt of a blind man to describe light, when all he knows is the dream of warmth it seems to have upon his skin, this , his memory of the sun. In retrospect telling my son of the Russians and the dog they sent up ( i forget his name(Laika i googled it like an ass)) in the name of science was a mistake, but there will be many more mistake talks I’m sure. Ill not begrudge my children their modus operandi in their dotage, but i do hope their dotage isn’t achieved at such a young age.

I find myself still typing, though all i want to do is conclude. But where does one conclude where there is no true conclusion? And wrapping up an essay is what everyone always expects, but their expectations honestly mean nothing when standing against the needs of reality and truth.  Let it be said that the world is glorious. The world is vicious. Man is lovely . Man is beastly.

There is a middle path, one which takes effort but is more bold than any extreme, one which seems simple but is the epitome of struggle. Take the road untravelled. And when they ask who sent you, when you stand before a tribunal of Fascists or Whatevers you can tell em who sent you, ” Your honors i stand before you because any edifice which makes an honest man plead with liars is clearly a land where the righteous will be shackled. And may you all go to hell.” Im already practicing my speech.

 

October in the Warmth

October in the Warmth

Outside it is the twenty third of a month in Fall called October, it is warm enough for a t-shirt.

I type , angry that the rain will stop the sun rising earlier or rather mar the pinkish glow which I’ve come to greet as a brother. One is less lonely with a burning star in their view, and the knowledge that a ball of friction held in by gravity and the hand of an invisible mathematics: an orb which will warm me, this undeserving creature, is reassuring. As I’ve said before the constancy of the sun has always inspired worship, for good reason.

Of late i write very little. Ive discovered it is difficult to suck the marrow from life if one is always recording on papers and or this device.  Reading is much better and taking notes for later writing, and this is all for me, pleasant : an abstraction, a legacy of sorts. I’ll leave my sons no fiat currency,  only knowledge which is all i have, and cannot be taken from even my corpse. Ill die burned with it in my crematorium: this wealth.

Ive ordered many new books, mostly obscure but well written books, minus the derivative of modernity which seems to have infested us with an idea of a promised synthesis of thoughts.  Ive discovered contrarily, that knowledge is best studied in subsections and history in microcosmic form, this works better, one has a chance to synthesize at least what they need before they expire.  Examples of authors: Fermor, William James , Epictetus,Dillard, Henry Adams, Baker’s the Peregrine, D’Ormesson , Rufus, Zeno, Physiologus, more of Senecas lesser known essays and writings etc.

Lists aren’t for me (nor is this one even close to total), and I’m not bragging. No one knows or cares i’ll read this, no one is wowed by my girth of interest. We live in a sleeping state and men who care are so far between that i would kiss the feet of a person who could merely hold me entranced with a new thought for just an hour without the aid of alcohol as a lubricant to fuel my interest.  THC makes me less interested in their company, in it i only have an urge to seek more in books, and perhaps I’m some wunderkind but it effects my memory not at all, i don’t even use book marks (or hardly do) , because i can find my pages simply by rereading a few key words.  Forgive my talk of this, i have only one other talent or two: 1. I am a mediocre but husband who tries hard. 2. I love my sons more than myself and will work to help them grow beyond me. Hence my speaking of the books of the philosophy, and the endless tirade of speculation on what seems as if it could be exhausted. But books cannot be nor knowledge. Only wisdom has limits and its is the basis of wisdom mohave a demarcation .

Now as i do often ill begin anew as if i weren’t writing about anything, which i suppose i wasn’t. I was writing about everything. The sun behind me still lurks and it rains, bones swell and i care not. French minimalist electronic music fuels my ability to pervade through my morning like a ghost of silence, my headphones loudly urging me to press play yet again. I shouldn’t be writing such tripe, i should read one of the 20 books I’m reading, i only have so long to live. Will my reflections have been wroth the time spent upon them ? Have i gleaned anything ? Has anyone?  If this is all, if i am only to be food for the earth or sky, what is it I am doing? I prefer to think it our duty to smear our existence and spread it with as much love and erudition as possible, until one can sound the depths of the human heart one cannot begin to do so, hence the need to reflect i suppose and to reflect on others reflections. Also we are all lonely , every night we are in another world akin to death, so all are lonely even if they say they are not, at least for the hours where their mind is not here. Truly elsewhere.

I say let the warmth come or go. But let Fear never have the option to remain. Live in accordance with reason and love, and die according to them as you have no choice.

Bishop Aimed at Unprotected Queen

Bishop Aimed at Unprotected Queen

The books gather in stacks, judging, waiting to be judged, preferential treatment accorded to those which held me in their grasp as mothers do babies,

I’d imagined a contrived poem, some vestige of what i believe I’m supposed to write but I’m a husk today, not an unpleasant husk but a dryness of mind which i appreciate, I’ve absorbed enough let me be reticent.

A gunman shot fifty people in Vegas, he will not be called a terrorist, because he is white he is merely a loose cannon, an errant fool, his case will be viewed with sympathy when he should probably be quietly smothered like a kitten in an insane asylum with a pillow laced with razors , yet such is our way, he will be paid for, until a long drawn out trial and endless appeals, death row and invested taxes fed to our vile corporate jail system, fascist in all but name. Democratic in nothing but our socialization and local government.

I picked my boys up early, i really honestly have little regard for any laws especially educational ones: when the food is edible and nutritious, when the curriculum is a lifelong pursuit of truth, then i will bow to such  a system. Either way , screw waiting in line with a bunch of irritated parents most of whom id fall short of speech with in any normal encounter. Or rather id capitulate and talk about the only sport player i know in order to evade any real conversation, if thats even a possibility.  Needless to say this is torture for me, i sometimes wear headphones i smile foolishly at everyone, as if to pay them off; like kids in war zones looking to me for chocolate i do not have.

Electronic music is now playing as i type this, my sons have hugged me often and told me of their love. I diffuse essential oils, and listen to odd electro funk music from the late 90s and literally whenever the hell it was made, by an artist i consider not shit.  I skim memes, I read a few pages of various books by men i should read books by ( and women not to be a sexist, as i love well..both sex and the abilities of my equals) and i sip merlot , the kind made en masse by people who must have been tasters for Thunderbird and were hired to help market this as a step up.  Does the trick as they say.  I write this almost as if it is necessary to me to have a point about today. But honestly i remain unmoved. Men shoot often, what makes it different when i can commiserate is this, i can commiserate, quietly and alone over what is wrong whether it took place here or elsewhere.

Somewhere, men in rooms with ties and suits which we couldn’t afford throw around words like “necessary loss” and ” how will this effect donors”, men and women who think of things in the rhythm  of four year terms , who have shit on democracy and made it a horserace for fat bottomed and cadaverous beings of wealth to bet upon like the play of whores after work in saloons.  Men who have given us a religion in the place of truth and called it freedom: endorsed boundaries when freedom knows none, built when they should have shown restraint, destroyed when they should have held back, compromised, made peace.  Often i find it odd that i am represented as a member of a designated class or social stratum in a nation-state, and that i must take this as matter of course and so must you and we think nothing of the fact that getting killed for speaking too loudly, is a thing which occurs out of hand as well.

I wake each day and walk to a quiet field of battle, it takes place on radios, and phones, pornographic websites, social media outlets which vacillate between honesty and a bland death like embrasure of free speech so inherently self absorbed, it ceases to be free or even speech. I often wonder how much skinheads and Antifa realize they are much alike, especially to men like me with more shit to do ,than get involved in their factions, children to raise, books to read: other than the few i felt necessary to reinforce my own assumptions. ( Though i must admit my brother and i debate whether one gets anything from books other than what one already inherently knew but couldn’t articulate, which is something i’ll address or not address another time).

Let it be known to those who feel they may hide from war, This is the war.  If you wish to hide from poverty, you’llve poverty of another sort, even less quenchable and more prevalent… a rich man, has less chance than a camel passing through the eye of a needle etc. … If you think you can avoid the masses, know you are the masses, your ability to function as a feasible unit within a mass of contradictions is your only goal. Let this at least be attempted with a sense of decorum. Truly it is all i wish of my sons or I.

And may you unite with one who’s bond is beyond that of themself.  And together you can study the architecture of the truth, bodies entwined until your death.