What sweet sensations can envelope what's happened in these plaster-filled years? It can't be done. There can be no textual transmission, no video or post which can encapsulate this diaphony of good and evil.
These are, indeed, dark days: times of wicked men and the catastrophic visions of a future where their rule cannot be rejected, rebuffed or denied. They devour everything. There's never been such a time so awful, so overrun in the burning of all things to ash and smoke. The craven and the malignant malinger upon the common green, staining everything the sickly colours of leprosy.
An unknown god watches in gleeful fascination at a species hell-bent upon its own inevitable destruction.
We scream into the digital microphone, wave rectangles at anything and everything. The only opinions are those most starred, those most extreme. Emotions overrun the masses, but no one can exactly say why, save the Doom Clock on the wall is ticking once more, its gears and metallic teeth louder than ever. Law is a matter of economics and the few rush headlong with impunity into the ruinous unknown.
Where are the safe harbours now? What remains? Greed-glutted oligarchs crawl over all things and places. Their cancerous stain is known to all languages, all cultures, all beliefs. The evil of man is homegrown, a sickened.
The wages of thousands of souls are the daily bread of the rich. Weak, corrupt things pose as captains, celebrities, Samsons and Salomes, and we cannot but stare in envious desire, fantasies of hateful retribution. The real world is no longer a thing, a metaphor up for debate.
Across a murder of nations, the oppressed apparently embrace their oppressors, welcome their subjugation in the guarantees of a state without fear.
It overwhelms the imagination.
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