"The Killing Road"
The chief dilemma of modern times is that the power of technology has far outstripped "the falleness" of man's moral capacity, much less when he wants to be "answerable to no one" and be "his own God on earth". And then again, you have the attendant anxiety of "the postmodern condition" which posits, or actually states "nothing" in a buzz of positronic distortion (or whatever)-- only that man as "an insect" is subsumed by the thoughtless, squirming mass of "competing reality tunnels" and to be sophisticated, we act as a socially-conscious, "politically-correct" broker of neutrality which has been actually "hijacked" to serve a definite money-making agenda as "high-minded" elites fool themselves into thinking that they're doing anything else but carpet-bagging off of The West's destruction. . . . . or at least a one-world, globalist, borderless economy.
But hark!
Disregard the piping, aping assholes in the modern media structure "who know not for what" with a nod and wink. . . . . quibbling over ephemera like a flock of gay-ass pigeons with the occasional right-wing "turkey" gobbling on "Fox news"-- thrown in "the cock-ring" and not coming across as "much better".
These days, everything is an either/or proposition. . . . . a video capture of the pathetic, underwhelming "reality" of "non-reality" as some camera-wonk points his equipment in your face and leaves you uptight and stuttering and "ducking for cover" with bald-faced assertions with "a credibility gap" more apparent than William Jefferson Clinton's ass-crack in "The Oval Office", or the supreme in-joke that "The Weapons of Mass Destruction" were moved to Syria "under cover of darkness" like sniggering "rag-heads" with U-Haul's. . . . . an almost "Biblical deliverance" of the parted waters of Charlton Heston miracles that commands you to obey "with a wink" and a half-smile.
For we were "not born yesterday". . . . . but apparently, "those in the cheap seats" were. Those overly misled, and ultimately disillusioned, by "the rhetoric of spectacle". Some may attempt "to hedge their bets" and "jump ship" to a cynical ice-floe of "non-belief", thinking "they'll never be fooled again", but finding themselves increasingly cut off from the rhythms and cosmic energies of the world that makes the soul pulse and the spirit soar.
And
remember down in Dante's inferno, where proud, despairing Satan ruled in hell. .
. . . moored in ice up to his waist, permanently cut off from the warmth of God,
thrashing wildly with his agony
and teeth of gnashing fury, trying to destroy whatever he could. . . . . all
because deep down he knew within that "he could not be #1" and mounted his own
rebellion, attempted to become "his own God", and in short-changed defiance,
ended up down here.
It is funny; yes-- how our society worships the primitive: fat, green-haired misfits sticking out their tongues at a heavy metal concert in a raucous cheer, but do they ever really listen to the true calling of the human soul?
For indeed, it is better "to serve in heaven" than "reign in hell" and even a dumb guy like me can circle around to that conclusion. . . . . you think?
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"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'
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(Rheeee of Crickets)
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("I heard that, Missy!")
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