A person's feeling out there, in the rain, the striking to their skin all of those clouds let loose on 'em, and there ain't nothing more for them to do than to lift their face to it and whisper, "Logan's Run."
And that is what we have to do now: run. Not away from it but into the winds and the rain. We've got to take our shot, get while the gettin's even on the table, saddle the eye of the storm and slap down hard on grit 'n leather to make er so. We're apocalyptin' the chosen and sending up supplicants in the new shine way, and its all got a name: Election.
Yes yes, we have ourselves an E=lection, massive times the speed of light thrice. They might have had something similar in the past, but ain't never there been a doin's just so. This one is the marble itself, made up of future sands and heated on the coals of the past, poured out from the crucible of the last dance onto the stone at the crossroads where we're hitchhiking on towards the godhead. It's maybe the most important game we've ever played. We'll sling a sack and tell 'em its the end of the slide and the right's tuck-backed teabagger, motorboating son-of-a-bitch on the pleasure cruise. It's all or nothing.
Can you smell the tack of fiery hooves on the posterior rump of the thunder-head? The pale horse and he that rides up him?
They keep asking, "Is she ready?" No, you morons, she isn't. She said she didn't blink when he asked her, and that's a bad sign. If there is ever a time to blink, and to blink long and hard, it's that moment, and it's that question. Because following that question is a flood that you better blink at, and you NEED to think about, and you don't blink straight off you likely never will. So this is why it's running time, and we're trying to outrun this:
We've been too long laying all our savings on quagmire futures and the commodities of end-times.
What we want, we got an understanding to at 8:46 in the morning some years back but not everyone's learned the lesson. Hatred isn't born, you've got to be learned on it. It is poverty's steel ruler across the knuckles and reading a book guaranteed to notch a paper cut, and the rub is the poison of ignorance coating the edge of each page. That was the enemy and we saw the whites of his eye. But too many pretended we didn't see, and chose not to pit ourselves against ignorance and poverty when the buildings came down. We can fight those villains. You can call down the thunder of logic and fires of charity and wade in among the clamor of melee to swat and fell and sunder the breeding grounds of chaos.
But we called out something else and let it be our enemy, and its terrible infection plagues not our bodies but our minds. It furthers the banners of disconsolation and despair, making us all agents and purveyors of strife. But it is now days and years later, and we know better now. We know more because we have not forgotten while they largely have. They "don't get it". They may be able to stand in Alaska and see the former Soviet Union, but they can't see the net cast into the past that drew in the fearsome catch of September 11, 2001. The phony Mayor of America uses what we have not forgotten as a cheap feather in his shoddy hat. but we will yet loose the faithful lightning of our terrible swift sword to banish the lies, to rend the corrupt, and the free the lady of liberty once more.
We cannot leave it to them, because they cannot do it, nor do they want to, and it MUST be done.
I too watched this seven years ago, and felt much the same:
Victory will yet come, as a road, as a school, as a hospital, and as hope.
*special thanks to Snobber, Dan the Webgoblin, John Stewart, and my friends for remembering.
“Threading North and South” by Matthew Murrey
3 hours ago