Night Terrors 10 - Castor and Pollux

Night Terrors 10 - Castor and Pollux 

(Second Draft)

Two men seemingly for now, sitting in chairs aboard a space vessel, each of them is facing forward in a vessel traveling through empty outer space. A silver ink fills their eyes and they sit lifeless syncopated communication system that displays their cybernetic statistics at a panel on the nearby wall with a manufacturer’s logo on it with the letters RKNSK. They move little but speak aloud as their ship slowly approaches a planet only a small blue dot for the time being, called Earth. A reverent connection to electronic communication denoted by the same color silver radiantly glowing from a panel on the device matching yet brighter than their eyes.

Castor: “Stop wasting ammo, sweepers!”

Pollux: “I see them, shut up.”

Castor: “Move or we'll lose them.”

Telemetry radar shows the significance of a disturbance leaving the planet, a large mass at high velocity. The sounds of a traveler's duress begin to sound with stern alarums and Castor lifts his arms and disconnects from the radio connection the chair provides, the panel of glowing silver be half lit now only indicating the other connection, as the silver drains from his eyes internally. A large toxic garbage island in flight leaves the atmosphere of the planet losing debris and remnant composition no longer the need or lost from essential position aboard the ship a burdening weight as the once putrid and partially dissolving heap freezes and solidifies in the cold of the stratus.

Pollux: “Where are you going?”

Castor: “Take the fucking glasses off.”

Pollux: “Sync in and make me.”

Castor: “Pollux we're taking damage.”

Pollux: “How is that possible?”

Castor: “Obviously it’s from this big fucking thing, get over here!”

They arose to the same view, the moon set aside, the mass half the size of Lunar Colony but many times more than their conveyance, drifting directly toward them using a blue beam of searching light and large panels of its propulsion engines slowly pushing the garbage craft afore from aft. Sprawling tentacles of crawling vines strung and flung from barbed arrows jetty into the void to spear the vessel of the brothers of Gemini. One of the lines strikes their vessel piercing the reflective solar panel hull, throwing them from their chairs. In wretched confusion, the protocol of buttons three in all on the console pressed, the stricken panel dejects from connection to the ship discarding the harpoon, and their spaceship breaks loose of the ship now burning and blasting into the deep.

The Gemini ship begins to glow, burning in the atmosphere, a pyre of fire falling from the clouds with great momentum, spinning to fast to turn or control. Within the cabin, Castor uses an override that forces a manual control system to unfold from the console, the ship now a barreling fire he cuts the airstream, aims to avert an abrupt landing and sounds the final prayer. In collision, lopped is the tiny ship to the ground, and after sliding towards a halt, crashes into a car dealership at the edge of the high desert, tearing through several vehicles of inferior quality, reducing them to trash and adding no more damage to the ship than the impact has caused. Circuits shorting, wires flaring, panel controls frying and dying on the ship and Pollux, like the outer hull of the ship, both have a lengthy tear, a slash where the inside shows for the external. Both were punished the same, Pollux no different from the ship had no blood, only fuel, no veins and nerves only wires to view.

As the scorn ship slowly dies, so doth Pollux, his wires wilting as plants in the sunlight. Castor quickly inspects himself and then moves the debris blockade to find his brother in disarray. Pollux swats at the panels out of reach in desperation, beyond being pinned batteries and diodes having fallen from a cabinet are still beyond grasp, but Pollux is there to save the day. In the moments of a breath, Pollux pulls a panel from his pocket beneath his shirt and attaches it to one of the many boxes scattered from within the closet, he pulls a handful of wires from the guts of his brother, and the tension causes anguish but soon ends. Pollux's eyes close and the wires pulled crawl like morning vines to the thin device. The unit becomes a mobile emitter, as the body of Pollux soon turns lifeless and dark.

Pollux: “Am I dead?”

Castor: “We'll see…, it's well damaged.”

Pollux: “And you?”

Castor: “I could be better.”

Castor briefly surveys his own condition and then connects to one of the panel boxes from the cargo and drains the energy from one of the units, the external battery drains into the device as a panel light slowly fades. Lifting his shirt to view his wound an open slit in his skin reveals multiple severed wires sliding across the opening to form a new mesh, before lowering the shirt again. He puts the device that is now Pollux in an inner pocket of his shirt where it had originated followed by a sound of a pneumatic pump and then a latch.

Out into the crash site there is havoc, strewn twisted metal, crushed broken cars in flames across, tossed across the road the sign of the tawdry times trailing the bare components of what is now a wasted vessel, the missing panel burnt or missing panels and a decorative gash from end to end peeling from the edges. The gap is big enough to crawl through and it is so that Castor does, outside waits an angry business owner, ravaged by the crash, with tremendous contempt and a rifle weapon.

The man with the gun is inconspicuous and highly curious with several other peering over debris, but when Castor turns and notices him, they freeze. In dreadful wait, the man loses his comfort and shoots at the sign of Castor's first step. Castor peels a piece of the reddish-gold solar radiation panel from the debris of the ship and throws it while being shot a second time, into the man killing him instantly.

Pollux: “We just got here.”

Castor: “It had to be done… I'm damaged as it is.”

Castor walks into the business' building and then into the office, when he finds the surveillance system he places his hand on the equipment and it discontinues functioning. He then walks out into the sales floor. The safe door is closed but with a single swift spin of the combination dial, he halts the wheel and turns the unlocked handle, within a box of keys he takes them all and leaves the room. Employees huddling behind a desk cower as he passes them he stops and turns to the terrified.

Castor: “Before you become famous, search that ship.”

He gets into a pitch-covered car that is otherwise unscathed, tossing the invalid keys as he discovers each one that does not work, one by the next. Once the car starts, he drives it to the crashed spacecraft and turns-off the car. He steps out of the car leaving the door open, grabs his brother by the legs and drags him to the vehicle, only to throw him inside quite carelessly and back into the shuttle, he grabs a few personal effects with a quick survey and inventory and back to the black car.

Pollux: “Wait, stare at the ship...sorry needed to take a picture.”

Castor: “Remorse is for the dead.”

It is off for them into the desert, with his brother behind his eyes, sharing their life energy. Sure to turn open the windows and wave his hand over the receiver-radio, with a drop of a lead foot the vehicle dashes almost certainly in place as the wheels stress to take hold spinning in the desert dust and old gravel laden road before hauling fast into the dry mountains and desert fountains of rust.

The Warming of Global Debates

Hot as fuck; in some places. Record highs often mentioned and neglected reports of record colds. A year or two ago on the lake it was fifty below zero for almost a week, (somewhere in Indiana 10 miles from Lake Michigan), my truck wouldn't stay running at stop signs, red-lights, and in any parking spot without laying-in-to the gas pedal and jumping between Neutral and Drive. My intrigue is lost on several facts missing. I understand reality to some extent, warm is warmer, cold is colder, but a raise in global temperatures of 1 maybe 2 degrees in the past century (100 years), is confounding. In every experiment, there is a control group, do you have another Earth just sitting in your back pocket? In rhetoric I jest, but what is the basis of this observation, record highs sway 100 degrees from record lows in places of high desert, is it an average temperature observation or of the magnetic pole, where temperatures vary as well? Does the global warming alarmist equation consider the amount of CO2 (Carbon Dioxide) in the atmosphere produced by respiration, the human population alone has tripled from approximately 2 billion people to approximately 6 billion people in the past century, (and maybe 15b by the next century) and people produce...yes, wait for it...carbon dioxide. I don't know if freelance scientists know this, but during reproduction, there is a-lot of hot and heavy breathing also.  More so a problem in my opinion is the pollution, because, “You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya punk?”. Trees create our oxygen, by consuming CO2, sunlight and water, this carbon dioxide rise will be food of the vegetation. In paleontology it has been discovered that there was a period in Earth's history when the oxygen levels were scarce and CO2 levels were predominant. The result, vegetation growth that created a cornucopia, which included the first lifeforms on (y)our/the planet, full of excess oxygen in levels so high that lightning started fires that seemed like heaven burning. When not in any danger of volatile oxygen levels, anything that breathed evolved to a larger size to capitalize on the immense oxygen levels. Don't cry because I wrote capitalize, you can still be a communist, just as long as you do your part. Plant a tree, don't pave over it, and have a nice day.

Dark matter is a mushroom.

Vinland Progeny

Vinland theories stipulate that during Solutrean times (20,000 years ago), lower sea levels greatly reduced the distance between the Celtic and the North American Continental Shelves and a connecting ice bridge eliminated the necessity of a 4,000 mile ocean voyage between Lisbon and New York City. The southern margin of this ice bridge was a relatively rich environment inhabited by migrating sea mammals, birds, and fish attracting the Solutrean people. There is reason to believe that generations of Solutrean hunters learned to cope with ice and weather conditions to follow rich resources such as Harp seals and Great Auks that migrated north and westward along with retreating ice in late spring. This journey appears to be feasible using traditional techniques still in use today, technology which would have been available to the Solutrean people. Through such activities they arrived (by accident or design) along the exposed continental shelf of North America discovering a New Land, centuries prior to Norse sailors discovering Helluland, Markland, and Vinland.

While Vikings explored, the Blamdr stayed and learned to give reason for their sedentary lives if not when resorting to war. Their pure lineage, just as they, will give all excuse and ill repute, to avoid responsibility. Many of this lineage was extricated from Blaeland and now lead productive lives within Vinland, coincidentally, many do not. The Skrælingi are mostly missing, their lineage is intensely combined with The Svartr or Blamdr, but fend a firm hold on their fair share of land below the Norse realm, concentrated in the southwest, with the Blamdr in the southeast, though both are residents of a Vinland of freedom. A small portion of the Skrælingi seek revolution in the name of their fallen ancestors, which were many in number and clan.

Though pejorative faiths and their many wars, each to all, may be lingering it is not the dominant faith. Still heralding the names of Pagan or Heathen, worship is free in every aspect. These faiths still hold tenets absconded from the Viking way of life, keeping the similarities of such tales as The Christ Lord, and The Allfather, the omnipotent omniscient of many faiths, in keeping counterparts of noted gods bearing new names, offering a plethora of congregations for visitors to attend of every denomination and religion.


For those outside the realm of the Vikings, this is not polytheism, it is apotheosis and the struggle toward quintessence. There is a hierarchy, to remind us of the evils that arise from power structures. Many gods ruled by a higher power, the same as religion, except life comes before suffering, and humanity precedes the petty needs for persuasion in the feeble minds of dogmatic neanderthals. In an intellectual clarity, there is no ethic without logic. It is in this respect of time that our analogy for the end of the world is Ouroboros, so that we must respect science for the truth is that we must consume to survive, but respect life unless to confront a predator.

-M

With friends like these, who needs enemies?

Look at the symbol of the Democratic party, red legs of the republic carrying the blue message of democracy. The president has said he's the voice of the people, but I never hear him listening to them, clandestine legislation, insult to the citizens, denigration of shared traits, insurmountable unproven statistics, scandal and lies and the redistribution of wealth, while they promote a 'communist-revolution' by promoting the same ideas that have destroyed entire civilizations to fail, including this society, five times since it was founded, and still swinging like "Casey at bat". Conservatives are better than liberal economists and relative politicians and officials circa. (To denounce the liberties made by our successes and renounce the last free country on the planet is Treason.) The President is wrong! Firstly, a super-majority in American congress, is not democracy. When one side loses it's ability to vote on issues with meaningful objection, all hope is gone. Secondly, and more to the point, when taxes are cut and spending is refined, personal wealth is gained and the overall economy becomes strong. Aside from this being obvious, as more people with personal wealth inside a growing economy are enjoying a profession, the national average of wages stagnates and people fatefully  cope with competition for the redemption of equal opportunity, as wages need to rise, the national average of salary raises simultaneously. (To be against progress is sedition.) I speak not of MINIMUM WAGE, but the quality of life, a uniform progress that is real, a community that helps one another, in order to retain a state of success. There are those that make obscene and obtuse amounts of money, and there are those that make minimum wage. For those in the latter, minimum wage is what is paid to keep them from killing the management. If everyone were on a minimum wage, then there is nothing to keep or stop them from ravaging everything, no standards, no limits, no goals, bathed both in idiocy and ignorance, subverted to subjugation addicted to state assistance as the coffer depletes. When I was young I never new what the American Dream was, because of this administration and adjoined cult of personality, I'll never know.

Merlin 2 - 6 Bastion of the Runelord

Merlin 2 - 6 Bastion of the Runelord

Just as other luminaries abandon nullification, the episodic tarry eludes traditional apprenticeships, often resorting to manipulating the masses to achieve their rewards. For the prophet of runes in the bastion above Utopia, a differing tale is to tell. As a young boy yet too young to tell his tale, he began a dream of gentle step between the realms of sleep and silence, walking to concerned fate and did not wake until the hunger pangs shook him from clairvoyance, barefoot and crying.

A Jotun archer hunting in woods of late fall brought the little boy back to a low town of the foothills, shortly thereafter they found the child with memories to foretell, and having an instinct of fate. Doing what they had only wished the boy to do, feeding and tasks they could not easily pursue, taken it was to the attention of the Jotun king. For many years, the child would fit in the cupped hands of the old and large king and favored by the Spaewives, the half daughters of The Jotun and Vanir the child received their protection for following years wherein.

In the later years like most lost Vikings, he felt a great desire to explore and did so in search of peers the same as like himself, eventually is was so that he arranged a bartering, one where the Jotun would sell him while feigning impiety to the Utopians. In effect, a grand swindling for part of the Utopian fortune and clandestine the young prophet would regard them as esteemed and still secretly visit them on their days of fest and fete.

However, of pass it is now that is happens twice the many years later that the Runelord and the apposite Merlin consternate in compositional collusion to discourse the current events at hand.

Runelord: “I've spent a fortune in good help.”
Merlin: “Lacking the funds are we?”
Runelord: “The money is here!”

The king throws out the window without pane, his glass to the guards of the sentry promenade far below the bastion as Merlin’s fellows approach the entrance to the court of prophecy.

Runelord: “…The value has become thin, alas. I've made it so things like work feel like play for this city...however mercenaries will not hunt for good wishes and without them we are ripe with spoils of war.”

Fatigue of charismatic parlay from interpolating the eminently shining character of phantasmal message dynast in origin shone of bright and lustrous eyes in asset that set the Runelord a fret thinly veiled beneath the casuistry of regality. The visible madness and sporadic attention caused from peering through the ether and remembering the future that would blister the eyes of those without a soul such as his. He is the divine providence of evidence brought through dissolute thoughts and memories exalting the rune prophecies, each at one specific reason, chosen to do so with sanctity that drives them from every captor into the vanguard and so yet paces in turmoil.

A soldier announces Merlin’s allies to the Runelord in whispers before he allows them their entrance. He is fair in complexion, a stance quite stoic in stature closer to the color of ash and far from shades of tenure travels whilst the sentry subtly mentions and disperses as the sovereign bids them entrance.

Patience staunches in the oeuvre library, each tome hand bound, an inventory of posh prosodies and gauche grimoire. Interpellation as a cataleptic lector, a reproof viceroy to the litany of books and treasure, he himself seems to invalidate post apoplectic and profound fulmination pondering deleterious blasphemy that they represent, instead choosing to wear the calico wools and unpolished leather that fetters his feet, high in quality but not heretical.

Runelord: “But I will not if you wish.”
Merlin: “I think it would be for the best that they have not.”

The Runelord points to them and looks to Merlin who in turn nods wherewith, the priest of runes disposes prejudice and heresy and looks to them with arms folded regally across himself in draping robe and tunic wrap and looks at them as he begins to speak.
Runelord: “Which punishment will you bestow?”

His voice was loud and bolstering, causing the timid in the room to cower at the mention of painful words. Power with archers in open stone doorways with balcony and harpoon, principality the decor festooned in fabric and dominion with a spectacular view of the entire city from a castle built against the towering aviary.

Merlin: “I have to catch him first.”

Mostly a confusing complaint in its least, as the mercenary David looks onward scrum and sortie, as do the others as they spread comfortably into the room while he inadmissibly reveres the city ruler. Very much they are able and ready of such indemnity, but as common as ever so often Nickolas' quick eyes and quicker fingers purview and ascertaining everything to be noticed on the shelves, as quickly as possible beneath the unrequited discretion he scans the room, swiftly surveying before being noticed but so enthralled he had not even heard the question. Troy is astonished with the view of the land and less interested in gainful gatherings.

Ana stands as if ere she belongs thence, her color of fabric is more the war driven red than any other be that by those of the hall, regardless of her impression she compliments the situation in a gracefully stoic stance, hands and fingers folded together before her and waiting for Merlin to speak. The mercenary David is causative, pervious sarcasm dramatic irony a toss in the pot, pathos of parody and hyperbole as unlike far in the happenstance below the room, this was a place of warm and yielding agrarian parochial satire. David stands paroxysmal of the king cleansing in a washbasin, the order was not what he expected as he waits, staring over the penury of a proselytizing deity pomp and fop yet in leather wrapped feet just as his, washing worry from his face and the zephyr heat from the back of his neck. He ponders miserly about how much good help will cost, as often as unredressed pages and the likes of those to study the volute parchments were in the room.

From near the shadows an apprentice of apothegms brings about a piece of leather folded over itself, to reveal a winter star, a blue crystalline stone, white above and dark below as perhaps the shadow of the hand and soaking the rag with condensation.

Runelord: “Take it back, its costly…just to do what the air will do.”

With a flaccid wave of his wrist by the forearm and backhand, he gestured for the servant to be off with himself.

Servant: “Yes my lord.”
Runelord: “It is so hot, even in the high winds...trapped closer to the sun methinks.”

The Runelord stops and pulls his heel close to the other and pivots in contemplation and abrupt observation, readily staring and approaches David who humbles in the regent’s presence.

Runelord: “It is hot isn't it? …A drink, would you like a drink? Of course, you would. Bring us something to drink, something to cut the thirst of this strapping young lad!”

The Runelord looks to Troy in the window, Troy humbly within penchant of grace slightly bows, but the king’s sight not promptly dissuaded glares at Troy’s wound of seemingly seething ivory and leather.

Ana stands by a sofa seated with one of the dainty servants. The servant quickly rises and moves for her to laze in the light just within the open stone arched window. David's resentment fades with the feigning comfort of Ana and the others, Nickolas perusing the books on the wall and Troy from the ledge staring out over the lands extremely eager and separated from trivialities waiting to soar the skies once more, and the king's arm around him jostling him as if old comrades in a room triumphant fraught opulence.

David’s view is a room of elegant Goths with large hodgepodge tomes, writing little letters with substantial quills privy to the order, and others who pretend portentous importance, a scene of poetaster fanfare much different from the Viking’s life that immerses his heritage and memories his life anon.

Merlin: “Why not catch the criminal yourself. You are the prodigy of omens?”
Runelord: “I am not fit to see such corruption.”
Nickolas: “Why are we here?”
Troy: “Merlin, what does he imply?”
Runelord: “To catch an agent of naught favor ever sought, this foe is definitively furtive.”
Merlin: “It is a termagant destroyer.”
Runelord: “I beg not the chance of this…”

Out of the loft, he stares over his kingdom, through one of the many windows between Ana and Troy. Nickolas eats of pleasant pheasant and fig, with some of his company watching, slowly tasting delectable morsel while the king stares at Troy’s wound until his conscience incinerates.

Runelord: “I dare hope not…”

The scribes creating their taxonomy schemata with endued literacy become imbued with a silence that sweeps the room, the Runelord stares at a newly indistinguishable guests of foreign origin and slowly walks to David the gladiator and put's his arm around him and walks him slowly to the window.

Runelord: “We have lost lives there, there and there. I have sought to no avail. Fortuitous your arrival has come.”

A dandy very precise about his wear holding a pouch in one hand and his robe above the front of his shoes as he walks enters the room, taking a bottle from a patron before they can pour from it and sets it down on the nearby table. Letting the somewhat large wooden door collapse shut, shaking the dust on the bottom of his robe, a cautious person with haste forgotten of formalities suddenly remembers decorum and bows once before the king.

Messenger: “The stones as you requested.”

The Runelord looks to David, shakes him a final time, and says.
Runelord: “They do that whether I ask them or not.”

The servant slowly rests a red velvet cloth onto a rag-covered table made of a short pillar that though quite large stands severed slightly aslant. The servant rushes to the king, kneels receiving approbation once the king puts his hand on his head, and removes it, and the servant stands and paces to the window with the others who rest in shade behind defilade. The city auger begins a votive whispering prayer, pulls shined bone runes with glowing symbol and lets them fall from his hand to let them roll and tumble across the slated plait. The polished white runes tumble like gravel from ruin ancient, some facing up or down across the fabric.

Runelord: “He is still in the city.”
Troy: “Who is?”
Merlin: “As sounded step of sinister fetch a villain.”
Nickolas: “Fine but it will cost you.”
Runelord: “But of course, I have fortune of plenty.”

Whilst Ana lay in the window for her first refilling of her glass she returns her attention to the clouds, to wash the peasant’s feast Troy drinks from the decanter after Ana has been poured a drink of vine fresh wine, as Nickolas' uxorious demeanor is lost at the very mention of treasure. David begins to resume his detestation, mixing confusion and contempt all over again and pacing to wit the writ upon the stones. The doors burst open, two men come rushing in faint, exhaustively exasperate with hands upon their knees.

Soldier #1: “A carrier wagon was just destroyed at the gates sir.”
Runelord: “We have our defender, arm the walls and tell me where it enters.”

Runelord looks to Merlin with a smile and hands together with fingers crossed.

Soldier #2: “It happened at the south gate mall, but of a departure your highness.”

The magistrate silence and then screamed as if driven by anger itself.

Runelord: “Mend the wounded in these fighting times of torture, we have avengers.”
Ana: “Which evil is it that haunts the crime?”
Runelord: “Find him, and all of this is yours!”

The Runelord walks to the window, and moving Troy aside opens a treasure chest of rare metal bullion and precious stones.

Runelord: “Before the darkness rules the day.”

Facing the throne of oft judgment, the prophet faces the window with his hand on the back of throne.

Runelord: “Doth wrathful gods send you, bring me a foe to festoon, dead or alive!”

Nationalist Persuasion - Allegiance

Nationalist Allegiance - Persuasion

Rational boundaries and measured advantages make Socialism acceptable, otherwise its elitism. That is why I like being conservative, it is not an agency and more than independent. There is more than one way to do anything, that's how I know I'm not always correct, but I can't remember a time when I wasn't, unless I was guessing and that was in a learning environment, no wrong error of my behalf was going to cause grief with another. 'Uncle Sam' is paying 10% unemployment to people, but it is 20% in the real world, long after all of those stimulus checks have gone. High school graduates, 50% losing their jobs for summer love, college or both to Illegal Migrants and the previous generation all of which are abandoned by our sectarians and partisan politics.

Markets are ailing because the bailout plan did not have enough focus on community reinvestment, what a way to think 'outside of the box'. In actuality they didn't, it was just another subterfuge and ploy to bolster their support for justice when and where there is no crime and to move power to the federal government fill of philosophers and not pragmatists, as they begin warning if no one regulates corporate society, all is lost and urging to do so as if an emergency. All to save a welfare state that has long since lost its gratitude - exploiting taxpayers and monetizing debt to undermine a prosperity boon, -- which failed in each of the following.

Theodore Roosevelt's - New Nationalism [FAIL]
Woodrow Wilson's - New Freedom [FAIL]
Franklin D. Roosevelt's - New Deal [FAIL]
John F. Kennedy's - New Frontier [FAIL]
Lyndon Johnson's - Great Society [FAIL]

...And now...,

Barack H. Obama's - highly commercialized "Change We Can Believe In" (end of sentence preposition). The Community Reinvestment Act that took all of two seconds for bureaucrats to vote with the party and never read, to let lobbyists write, not moving off their fat politician asses and doing nothing. An increase to the government sector, in full negation of the term community and lose a portion of the money in transit, before prioritization of funds in full degradation circle of the tax system as it funds lifeless and shiftless political-daydreamer ambitions. Lastly but not least, print the money that does not exist, diminishing the value of each dollar with each dollar printed before it ever leaves the funny-money press. [FAIL]

Do you notice the pattern? Each promises a shiny name for the people and something to escape the horrid past left-wing thinking gets citizens, and something they want and need since the "professional left" has cleaved the good from the country. The damages prevent funds from raised taxes taken in luxury times as well as the ability to donate. The money saved could have been printed and passed as a citizen subsidy, contributing less waste as the revenue of the taxable quotient rather than the trifling choices of a bureaucrat.

If one can earn in the land of the free, before giving to Socialism, the welfare recipient is more likely to aspire, to work, and have a greater environment to learn participation - the liberal philosophy fails in missing an elementary component, a vital piece to the puzzle. The belief arises that individual freedom, liberty, can only exist under the protection of properly democratically elected government that has an active role in society and the economy, but it never comes forth. This role is inevitably challenging at best, and like forgetful adolescents they want no role or abandon their interests at crucial times, failing to have any relevant connection, lightly put, no active role. They do so without any hindsight, welcoming new ideas unless inexplicable, which is more often than not, and fear the simple things in life. Always in crisis only to become what they hate, when cornered for a solution they want to monetize the debt, call for more regulation at preposterous costs and are not to be trusted.

Except to Left Wing fascists and Right Wing conspiracy theorists who have lost their audience, liberal attitudes are fine, cool in fact, and most people enjoy the casual setting in the comfort of laissez-faire and nonchalance, but through time immemorial, liberal policies have no proper place in economics.

I have noticed the left hating communism at times, but they love sticking it to the little people, or how they hate corrupt business yet let the trade commission run the standards of the national economic situation, let lobbyists bribe our country’s lawmakers, as long as it remains a crime to bribe the jurisprudent. It is very important to know the ulterior motives of politicians, keep in mind at every call for transparency a liberal fiasco arises.

These liberal politics and its practitioners seem to want more equality without understanding the word. They ascribe to an egalitarian ideology yet they want the less inclined to bathe in the light of the overworked. The ethicalities are disingenuous at best, but the law of time has given democracy to a world of free citizens, it only becomes a tragedy to dignities and self-respects when tyrants become hypocrites. This sense of entitlement imbued will distort the development of the deprived, with privileges that countermand motivation and responsibility, in addition to, resentment and prejudice.

As ethical society rejects this poor behavior and as they return the favor they reflect these negative aspects until society ill foments. The burden becomes unbalanced and supplants economics with a welfare state. Most revisionist sociopaths hate labels, come standard with an inferiority complex, pathological lying, and believe communism to be their true calling. Class warfare never works, but a generation’s entitlement comes undone and they lash out at the next, education is and has suffered funding to the lowest per capita financing to date. As things like SSI go bankrupt only to be balanced by irresponsibility and debt is burdened upon the children of tomorrow, to pay for what will surely become insolvent once more before the votive responsibility passes unto the next.

Absurd how so many sleep through tragedy and immorality cuts to the bone, while those of us in the wit have been screaming the woes of our time ad nauseam. Somehow, these liberals, democrats, leftists, whichever it may be that you label them, feel guiltless as they wage war on the next generation, while liberty sows to waste by caustic ephemerals who have felt no sorrow or woe in millionaire houses, immune to what they are behind the facade that is bureaucracy and neatly nesting in government title. Never before has the graduating class had such high unemployment, their dreams scorn to ash before ever formed, as living dream turns to hate for those that would abandon them.

Endlessly no end in sight, no leader among the listless, no evolution without nature, a dwindling society nurturing beyond compassion in tragedy, all due to a liberal with an inferiority complex who couldn’t be told otherwise, in foreign land.