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￭ Epistle of a millennial
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2013-09-04 | |
As I was writing this essay, "We the people..." came to my searching mind.
Looking it up where available, I understood history's tireless farce in producing written proofs of power's insatiable appetite for justifying its own mischievous ends, when at the end of the above, after a peacock's tail of grand tales, a handful of "representative of the people's" people signed, turning the afore mentioned into the mockery document of a mockery democracy.
You see true democracies shouldn't need declarations and constitutions if they wouldn't plan to harvest beyond their own orchards' boundaries. No one outside pathological taxonomies needs fear of their own selves...
I have a personal history of turning my friends into my enemy's friends by daring to become a critic of what's unjust, regardless of family relationships, religion, gender, political and/or sexual orientation.
But you see, truth does hurt, both forth and backwards, with bestowed isolation as a never requested side dish.
I started my unplanned career in Ceausescu's "scientific, dialectic and historic socialism" where Orwell's "1984" seem to have been the catehetical blueprint of a system boasting socio-economic achievements equaled only by, and in an utopia yet to be built by the Carpathian "genius" himself, thus being told to leave a political school for believing aloud that their Marxist-Leninist system is good, just "we the people" aren't good enough to carrying it out...
My best friends turned to be my worst betrayers before West's coveted freedom proved to be less of what I have hoped of liberty...
Just another wandering Jew I discovered myself to be, turned back from the doorsteps of my Land of Tikva by kin asking for proof of my origins the old Nazis burnt together with my past as they were leaving Northern Transylvania... And wandering I've been sent by kin holier than the young Hungarian Rabbi who ushered us back into the hope harder to kill than the sense of unwantedness becoming more and more of an eerie companion...
Wanderer seeking a place I can call "my own", where I don't have to smell the stinking boots of anyone's "freedom" stamping on my face.
I've been to room 101, and I know the source of "democracy's" never fading light.
There were no rats in cages over my face, just drawers of "anonymous" reports from my "friends", gnawing at my bleeding hart and pissed trousers...
I dread of the day when "We the people..." shall turn into "Weep thee people...", with no one to bring anymore stones upon our graves, for all the stones have been thrown at the collective stoning of our own souls...
Some time ago, democracy issued a statement of intent, announcing its borderlessness, turning the world into its soon-to-become the political-correctness conform, though empty playground, where only the unplanned children's ghosts of the -numerically- great People's Democracy shall remain to play the sordid games of these new, shapeshifting Nazis...
Oh, Democracy, you twerking bitch rubbing your black holes against anything in between full pockets...
Beware ye all erecting your reachings against her so much desired end; should your interests miss the incubation vaults, instead of toys and dolls, you'll be crying for toilet rolls...
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