You can skip to video in 5. "Like misplacing your left hand, 4, you’ll get through, 3, the day, 2, but it will be, 1, an—" Hey there audience! Welcome to the 400th anniversary of the three-day New World feasts with the Indians. Feathered kind, not the dot kind. Hospitality was good, food had the right touch of soul and compassion, and then destiny manifested itself. Enjoy your reservations and casino revenues, cuz we are done unhinged the nation’s trunk lid and the baggage is skidding down the interstate. The gas-guzzling beast drifts around the corner to the fourth Thursday in November – the day dedicated to sacrificing flightless fowl to the gods of gratitude. Pass the bowl of outlaw logic, the one whipped up by the words dedicated to The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner.
Thankfully the devil wears scales, cuz these manicured demons are difficult to mark. The forked-tongue peddlers make a cash offer for our souls, knowing they'll rent it back to us if our credit is clean and the deposit check clears. An overpopulated inbred hellscape of tribal cattle, long stripped of agent thought. Few return sane from this mental poverty. Children raised with bleak posterity dream of being bad... at least the bad kids get lumps of coal at Christmas to stay warm. WE MUST SAVE THE CHILDREN!
Church saves lives, and the state makes lives safe.
Elected pimps nurturing common dominators. Whoring out synthesized mayhem and unity to folks with the mental fortitude of warm Play-Doh. Conning them with circus trinkets and carnival funhouse mirrors. All the while the grandstands savagely resemble a hate orgy fueled by rising ticket prices. Cult fidelity keeps them energized. The whole lot reeks of decaying aspirations. A dream that committed suicide with a rotten dog bone. Even maggots flee in disgust. A place where nightmares go for additional content.
“Sorry, I did not see you there. No, you’re refined. Go ahead. Yes, I do agree a touch of artificial color in my life is required.”
Passing the days in a memory lane of well-polished treasures. Ingots from better days long passed. Those were decent days. Yet less charming than things so currently. Real or imagined moments of the now are the wagon to hitch the dog. The now comes with options. Where life is either drained of color or deception is chased away by borrowed thoughts. Left unattended the borrowed may become ours. Nothing original said the liberated, just new.
Seek out the liberated, for they possess a belief in happiness. In the company of the divine the liberated squeeze souring minds until clarity arrives, or he passes out, or the nerves short circuit. All possible outcomes force the liberated to hold tight. Quitters are left out of all history books written for winners.
May we all be memorialized in word and phrase someday. The illiterate will surely enjoy the pictures. Words that will remind those who follow us, that life is only worth living when the value of every life is valued. May you have a free life. A life free to choose. A life held responsible for choices. When you have choices, choose life.
Until next year.
Jarvis
