All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views |
Obshchak! Baby, Obshchak! Tin RoofâŚRusted. ![]() Some torn to the ground ▼ Read here some old blog entries... ![]() Brian K Compton ![]() ![]() ![]() Short answer, mostly relatable. |
The Sardonic Hope of Salvation? When people pull religion on you, apply the sharp blade to a yielding throat, but not sacrifice oneself with tithing for these sloven, dirty faces dining in lifeâs halls, fully loaded artillery in lap, under table, while sheriffâs and their jail keepers sweep, cool in shade, mind store until Lock or hang the miscreants That dared disturb your dinner. Words can purchase nooses, unless, yeah, be whatever authority, not give a fuck? In frock and sash, they trouble, confronted with unregulated lawlessness, as the would-be-crusaders, saviors adjacent to a Good Book, tidies at stain-glassed station, seldom perused. Fabled and worthy document, reminiscent of childhood-trust-faith that now, flat fails. Discouraged? Knowing of the outlaw sacrilege To place lordly dominion above the lowly for enterprise, blasphemerâŚooh, ouch! (hate it, the word, sardonically?) Should, agents of faith, at least honor their father, if not spare others, what little flock left, from what? A mental genecide? Self-enslavement inside note-stuffed bottle called you, and asea. Or, just ask the ruthless, barefoot, penny less (lost something in transition here) From offering and ask, âWhat the fuck is up with thatâ? âIf I donât see you in church⌠Iâm telling God.â Seeing this as failure⌠âThus, Anti-heroes were born, and the day was not saved. But, it was a good show (Hey, cynic watchers! Yeah? This is a higher art form. Realize, satire from the sardonic.) Born and bred, the stoic chew scenery, not your Charles Barkley, with backstories that may yet come in prequels (after reader/viewer response) Otherwise, lean into evident, getting tired, trope, knowing Batman, Spider-Man, Inigo Montoya. Literature, that sees the light, is accessed, born from minds of oppressed word crafters, Foretelling totalitarianism, write instead of read Russian monoliths, Orwellian and dystopian, Authors warnings of complacency, indulging in the inane, among the blunt instruments of history writers â narrative-wielding, bully-pulpit, fear-mongering âif your not with me, youâre against meâ, and wonder whyâŚwhy wonât someone sage us, be our Ralph Nader? Helloo, wonât take ship helm (marbles). Divided, blamed for our chasms from failing to unite, by the whisperers (âI was never hereâ - really?), saying, âthat guy was talking about youâ, and then (you did not see), turned to the other, âhe called you a derogatory wordâ â ThusâŚtwo ignorant bulls stand off, others watch, when (epiphany?) a movie moment could arrive â âŚin place of the foretold⌠ask the logical, âwhy are we fighting, anywayâ? risk lowered guard, split lip, and outcome that could go one of two ways to âdeviseâ a happy ending, because writers are frustrated, Incentivized and paid, also had that near jugular slit, carbon-based metal spirit arrival that compelled complacency. Now, wield pen, rebel in mock society to bleed words, cloaked possibly, to have meaning inferred. , There are other options than outlaw heroes or sycophants, tired of false misrepresentations and being taxpayer doormat. It doesnât matter how they align, but what they serve, while impugning what seemed like a noble cause to rid tyranny, shelter any with any belief, note religion applied i drafted guidelines for agreement⌠be chill, loyal to a new nation with ideals, instead of jets to private islands and say, âoh, no, that was the other guyâ⌠the Epstein of it all, a facilitator for capitalistic-wealthy-driven demeanor that still creates a caste society by status, limits access to freedoms, laws selectively shoved down throats by a moral-wielding edge that doesnât answer to you, âone voteâ, or you, âone voteâ, and âdonât try to organize in a united wayâ, thatâs covered in a surveillance state finger-printing faces, giving yes sir responses as ex-military, vaulted status as guardians of the state, misalign with clownish ideals so idiotic that one could bury a head or two in sand for the buffoonery being witnessed from across the pond and beyond. All conceivable, likely written, but strings on puppets, the marionettes who spin words, give us stories derived from situational stories to the surreal ⌠Intermezzo Forever. Hastas La Vista 5.11.25 Bloated? Yes, no?? Trim fat??? Nobody 2 in 3 months. More on that when dust settles. |