Wednesday, January 28, 2015

6305. A ROOMFUL OF MARKSMEN

A ROOMFUL OF MARKSMEN
Here we are once more : the deadening
hammer-blow of this late afternoon hits
harshly on the tabletop. I am reading a
Reverend Billy screed  -  some nutty
diatribe about the consensus of the
malformed and the 'greed of the
tweedy.' I think that means Wall
Street's in for new trouble.
-
If we keep following things this far, we
have to know this place is in trouble as well. 
People following the lion's-lead of another 
dumb-ass President in chains, and whistling 
back as his guys walk by. Even Condolezza Rice, 
I notice today in the New York Times, 
is bowing, and ten years out of date.
-
You want chains and slavery then? This is
the place that can give it to you. Most people
these days work for Government pay anyway.
It's a roomful of marksmen all aiming at my head.
-
I was once a boy in a blank and free land. That
went away the next morning, and I was forced 
into an idiot school led by idiotic, mannered adults :
the first raft of marksmen, before they all sank. 
-
'Yes, yes, father, I'm in the middle of it. I want to
go on, but my mind is twisted by the death and
the foul, all the things I see. Lucre and breasts,
lies and the obscene, nineteen tall people, taking
it mean. A roomful of marksmen again.'

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