The Gross National Debt

Friday, July 8, 2016


Too many thoughts. Too many words. Swirling masses of concepts that make sense only in my head.

Put them down. Get them out. Express yo'sef! And when the synaptic impulses travel to the fingers and strike the keyboard, it's still clear in several pounds of nerveless supercomputer in a bone case, but on the screen...




Too many dead. Too much anger. Too many striking out in blind rage against a machine that will trundle over them through Tiananmen Square in front of the house. Like so much bubble wrap.

"Tone that one down ya arrogant bastich! Showing off again, that's what yer a'doing there."

But it won't simplify.

Writing for me, anyway. Just inviting you in to look around.

But. Well. Hell yes, it will simplify.


#Whatlivesmatter to a suicide attacker? Blow some Muslims onto the roof of Mohammad's tomb. He's dead, what does he care?

Take out The Man, never mind he grew up around the corner from you. Sold out to the power structure. Reason enough. Doncha know that power structure that keeps you from dying in agony as your body digests itself in a last ditch effort to stay alive?

"Well, sexually express yourself with yourself. You part of the problem too."

Yeah. Shoot the messenger and that'll teach 'em to try to share the truth. Stay happy in Plato's underground retreat and watch the show.

Maelstroms swirl. Tangents erupt. Mandelbrot just left, staggering and reeling. Fractals lined up to take lessons in complexity.

"yer doing it again."

Yea verily, a hit, a palpable hit, easy enough to do when the target is locked in a cage. Cheap shots are too easy. Dammit.

"then don't do it."

But gotta get it out. Don't have to go home, but can't stay here and home is the one who opened the door in the first place. And carpet bombs take out everything. Boomerang carpet bombs REALLY take out everything.

Moving on to the next agenda item-

Climb a clock tower to sit on a grassy knoll in a school and turn the valve for the gas chamber in the garage.

Kill 'em all. Let God sort 'em out.

How about doing some sorting now? Eh? Come down here and shew thyself in thy majesty and might 'cause we f'danging well need some intervention. No show? That pesky free will thing again?

<insert string of profanities of your choice here>

Too much hate. Gotta stop it. Get off this whatever you wanna call it. Gotta get back, except back never existed. Figments of an imagination is all.

We have met the enemy and he is us.

What's it gonna take?

Fall of the Peacemakers 


And make sure that song is played at my funeral. Do that for me wudja please?

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