…with speech smoother than butter,
but with a heart set on war;
with words that were softer than oil,
but in fact were drawn swords. (Psalm 55)
…just wondering, apocalyptically, about this morning’s Psalm in context of the Corporation
Thank the poet, standing on the ruined ancestral halls of civilization to see clear as crystal the conjured testimony of the ancient system, the corpus-Corporation.
The poet observes…
…that when the smooth words that justify personal comfort at any cost are finally etched into our unconscious constitutions, our own hearts will stand ready for war. Our flaccid faces will hide drawn swords.
Are they not already drawn?
We’ve perjured ourselves, not in poverty or struggle, or even in the quest for happiness, but in the backwash of prosperity. The generations squandered in becoming Capital-Believers will be swept away in a single backfired hour. The engines of war built by our own silent complicity will burst into flame on our gilded doorsteps.
Are they not already bursting?
Yet, even as the flames lick at our archways, still not knowing quite when to stop, hiding from the discovery that we are truly Conservative, we remain as confident in progress as Ptolemy was in a geocentric universe. And not yet ready to draw the swords on ourselves, not yet ready for a mercy-less raid on our own acquisitive desires we stumble ahead by habit.
Mercy-less raid?
Let’s be clear, mercy for all sentient beings and animate life, absolutely, but for the bloated System blind to its own avarice consumption, self-protected by sets of subsets, wherein the flesh of all chiefs and labourers slowly turn grey; wherever this anti-Christ pops up may it die by the singular disbelief of its own, I mean us. May we all laugh it into the very oblivion it prepares for us.
