Tuesday, November 30, 2010

O Proud Death

Regarding the monopolization of wealth in my country by less than 1% of the populace, and the profound obfuscation of this fact by every aspect of society with significant power--media, government, business--and, further, in regard to the sick wars we are locked into, like some kind of debauched slaughterhouse of tangled sin, I feel utter contempt, despair and impotence. I feel free speech has either failed us or become nothing but another useless cure for an inveterate ill. I feel my words mean almost nothing and that if doom is the trajectory of our greed and evil, me and those like me (and there are millions) are powerless to alter that vector. I feel speechless and crippled as a person with a sensitive heart, and so I will quote from Hamlet, not because it will make any difference, but because I feel as much like a feckless prophet as I can:

O Proud Death, what feast is toward in thine external cell.


  1. Hello Owl
    It's not just your country. It's the whole world. The old madness afoot.
    But fortunately there seem to be one or two intelligent heads. Just one or two. Somebody will arrive to save us. At least I hope somebody will.
    Anyway, whatever happens, it's all going according to plan.
    I think of Vincent van Gogh, Ludwig van Beethoven, in times like this. The pure people.
    Take care,

  2. Your noble words staunch my desperation.

    I am an avatar, though, assigned the difficult task of dealing with a certain person's negative feelings.

    In other words, I'm supposed to vent.

    Be warned.

    However--thanks again.