Fluid Reality by Eric Power
I'd like to make an announcement. I've decided it's time to come out and identify my true self. I want you all to know that I self-identify as a Martian. I know the struggle! The thin atmosphere. The cold, cold nights. I stand in solidarity with
The New ME! |
that matters is how I perceive myself. I'd like to thank Rachel Dolezal for showing me that you can be whatever you want to be just by thinking it so. Even though she is as white as Butternut, she changed her hair and skin tone and BECAME black. She even ran the NAACP until she was outed (then ousted) as a white girl. But she knows the struggle of her black brothers and sisters! Even Whoopi Goldberg is ok with it! So, because of her, I have found my inner courage to be straightforward and honest with you all today. Ok, well, not honest because I'm making it all up; but never mind that now!! Because Black, Indian, Caucasian, Martian, Plutonian — these are all just a state of mind. Today I feel that I'm a Martian, but tomorrow I could be a...Vietnamese rice paddy farmer. What?!? It could happen! In fact...ok, forget the Martian thing. Yes, I am INDEED a rice paddy farmer from Vietnam! Can't you tell??
Ok, Ok....The New, NEW Me! |
Do WHAT?!?!
Okay, I'm climbing down from the tip–top of the crazy tree for a moment. The world has been turned upside down and inside out. White people can be black, men can be women,
You Got It...Mass Hysteria. |
Common sense has evaporated like an early morning fog.
When things become so upside down as they are now, it's just a matter of time before we experience a massive, painful reset. We can only detach from and try to rewrite the truths of the world for so long, before the truth will come back and haunt us.
Poetic Prophecy
There was a poem written back in the early part of the 20th
Rudyard Kipling |
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Rudyard Kipling — 'The Gods of the Copybook Headings'
AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour (and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
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I have been tossing around writing and posting an analysis of this poem for a few years now. As much as I'd like to do it here, I think a breakdown deserves a blog post of its own. Look for that to happen in the next few weeks (Hopefully). Suffice to say, we are well past due for a hard lesson from The Gods of the Copybook Headings, judging by our latest shenanigans. As always, thank you for reading and God bless. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a rice paddy that needs tending. Where did I put my coolie hat??
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