Breezed through security like we owned the place, Captains of Industry, movers and shakers. The Elite. All the trappings of the Rich and Powerful, dripping with cash-and boorishness. Talking out of the sides of our mouths. The whole scene is below us. And it is.
OneForce gets us established in the proper lineup, tells me to hold the spot while he rustles us some beers and cuts an eye-watering silent fart entirely unbeknownst to me. As soon as it hits my nostrils I know precisely what he’s done to me. I look around. Only an old woman behind me and I’m blessed to be witnessing the very second OneForce’s SilentButDeadly strikes her awareness. A widening of the eyes and a shocked covering of the mouth. Everything in an ever widening circumference smells like dirty diapers and rotting vegetables. Damn you, OneForce, you’ll pay for this. You’ll rue. You shake your head disparagingly at the old maid beside you. As far as you’re concerned, she’s the offender, and the whole scene disgusts you. It’s all you can do.
You have time to ponder the final, epic Truth of your Age poised above your skull like the sword of Damocles. You’ll say the bloody thing, write it up for good or ill, and if it falls and cleaves you in two, then it is that way. It falls upon the GonzoEarthians, it turns out, to say what nobody’s saying. We’re all dancing around it because we are afraid, and why not? We all know the size, shape and power of that sword.
Fact is, Truth always wins in the End. Know why? It has Time on it’s side. You seek that which is Immortal? Then it is Truth you seek, and our quest is the same. So Truth, being Immortal, finds a way to get said, in the end. Like all things Immortal it has sway over the realm of Man, Real Power, to the point that when one encounters unspoken Truths and holds it inside long enough it grows like a cancer. Burns. You feel it sitting there, heavy and achey. And you know it can’t stay. So you speak that particular Truth and by so telling be set Free. To move on to greater things, if your lucky. But it probably more often gets your skull staved in.
HST said writing politics was better than sex, but he understood the hideously addictive and dangerous side of it as well and better than anyone and offed himself in the end. That's not your way. Gotta go cold turkey with this one. Write it up then give up politics forever. There are other, far better stories for you journalists to cover and you got yer eye on the prize: a story that doesn’t fill you with disdain and sickness for the stupidity or outright evilness of your fellow man. It’s greener pastures and the honey of an assignment you’ve always been looking for.
Right?
Right.
-iSenseChange
Random(?)Mp3age: "Fly Like an Eagle," Steve Miller Band
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1 comment:
Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!
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