DREARY LORD JIM
The milk on the table has no beginnings; it's
always been around. At least for me, in my
brain, years before, it was planted. Timeless
and ever-present. Without change. That's how
things are. Like an M&M, or a car - the core,
the essential idea, pre-dates itself. Eternity falling
through envious space, while each of us looks on,
absorbing what we see. So. I. Call. It. That.
What does it take to make real change? A new
revolution by a gun, replacing the old revolution
by a gun? The one which only now is mythologized
in every fourth-grade classroom by unionized
teachers working for the state. Getting paid by
tax dollars while preaching Free. Enterprise.
I. Do. Not. Know. I just have to pay. Oh, an
endless heed is all all this for useless chimeras
of Freedom and Cloak and Dagger and Belief
in everything equal and fine and equitably right.
Ma'am, please, if you will, pass me the bullshit.
Please.
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