"Maple/Inferno"
In this life, it's easy to be "liberal" if you only put in only 60% and don't live vigorously, like oxen in the yoke mulling over the hard truth of a wagon that soon draws to a halt with the pathos of inertia and creaky wheels, taken to cracking whimsical jokes that avoids the essential heart of the matter. . . . . that "there ain't no escape".
The grinding abyss of death and starvation and decay dogs at your heels, unless your existence is otherwise subsidized by liberal, forgiving plentitude that lets you "roll over, and fall into a feathery fatigue" though you probably have "little right". For the little bit we do have to face, it would become the worst kind of "onerous burden" that would otherwise pull down "our carefree existence of leisure", otherwise "light as a cloud" and quite parasitical though we would certainly "not choose to think of it in that way" with much hemming and hawing.
Yes, the cycles of the wind, the rain, and the sun across the rolling hills of the Republic upon your little shelter made out of mud, pus, and slime, until-- inconveniently enough-- it's kicked in by fate. Guilt is bad, shame is worse. . . . . it only makes you want "to crawl under a rock" and go back to your self-indulgent ways.
We find ourselves "mugged by reality". Out in public somewhere, when a presence sidles up to you and makes you look ridiculous-- shocked, wounded, "out-in-the-open", when one shuffles off through the night with a sinking corkscrew feeling of despair for this shock of an ugly unmasking that underscores your impotence, untested lack of readiness, and pathetic lack of "mojo". Part of them is scared, so terrified of that essential lostness that they saw inside themselves that they have to gravitate around a judgmental, hyper-aggressive politics to ward off "what they fear" like someone who self-congratulates themselves "for being in charge", but really isn't as the silence presses in "and has no answer", when eternity-- gentle and unchanging-- speaks for itself as you move about in an ungraceful flurry of pen-scratching and speechifying.
One finds themselves "going for the big win", which can be described as someone standing in the furnace of an engine room and shoveling coal into the boiler that powers the maw of the great, mighty "Thunder-Chief" locomotive. . . . . a dreadnought of stately "correctness" that punishes with pompous, crushing force. However, it's very size and slowness makes it stupid as pranksters razz it and throw debris in its path, or you have the idiots who simply idle on the track like empty-heads, then there are the sabotaged lines. However, ole' "Thunder-Chief" believes that the answer is to throw in more coal and to barrel on through. . . . . even though it's getting hotter and more stressful in the engine room, getting singed and scorched "in an all-out effort".
After a length of time, it becomes apparent that the cause "is hopeless", that the track doesn't lead "to the promised land", that you're nearly out of fuel, this investment was "a boondoggle", you've suffered for nothing, and now it's so unbearably hellish in here you got "no choice". . . . . like the monkey who has made a fist in the jar, trying to grab all the treats, but finding itself stuck and smashing the vase everywhere and hurting it's hand horribly. You can't bear "to lose face", because too much of your self-concept is invested, but eventually you skip out of there-- "having lost everything" and now broken and singed.
There were reasons for going to war in Iraq, though the ones that "officially circulated" were not the true ones. It was about geopolitical expansion and cornering the world's resources, which-- depending on your philosophy-- would "trickle down" to the average man as the planners in "The Project for the New American Century" envisioned, even if they threw some largess to their buddies along the way to forge a perfect, "sweet-heart" deal that on paper, at least-- was supposed to be "a cake-walk". Their problem, however-- was not thinking presciently enough to envision "an exit plan", or a worst-case scenario should "magical thinking" fail. . . . . no worse than what the New Left did to this country in the 1960's when they tore down the establishment and didn't erect anything particularly credible in its place with further-reaching consequences than you could ever imagine, even giving rise to the sort of conditions of "mugged liberals" that make for angry conservatives "who come out swinging".
There is a savage satisfaction in "dragging your enemy behind your chariot", and the liberals with their putrid version of left-wing slaughter will never match the true darkness that exists in we conservatives' hearts and will, policy-wise, roam Washington with the mark of Cain upon our brows like hell's wrath.
Provoke it at your peril.
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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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