Empire’s Day of Reckoning

Dawn. Another day amidst the crumbling walls of Empire. Mired in the middle of its Misinformation Machine. Sharing fouled air with mindless, misguided, huddled masses. Electronically hypnotized zombies, grossly overfed on dead flesh and chemicals, arteries clogged, welcome mats for every known disease. Bodies pierced in each available spot, covered head to toe with inky, ill-conceived epidermal etchings, bizarre, flowing rainbow locks, fluorescent-painted lips and nails, sewn-on eyebrows, glazed, hopeless, expressionless, but highly decorated young faces, facing meaningless futures.

Pawn shops, porn shops, gun shops. Temporary solace from creeping moral and financial decay. Big box stores and shopping malls, once prosperous, now homes for roaches, rats, pigeons, and echoes. Empty of merchandise, void of jobs. Bridges crumbling, highways potholed and cracked. Once-buzzing factories filled with cobwebs and despair. Desperados, stealing what they can, selling drugs to equally unfortunate contemporaries, trying only to survive, meeting with increasing violence from burgeoning armies of law enforcement. Flimsy, tin homes on wheels or crowded tenement apartments for the fortunate. Shelter under bridges, in arroyos, in parks for the less. And still the flags fly. And still allegiance is pledged.

Sleepwalking through The American Dream, still believing the lies, counting on the lies, clinging to the lies like their lives depend upon it. Empire’s Misinformation Machine knows the drill. Well learned from blood brother Adolph: “If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.” Ultimate perfection of Fake News. Still believing ’twas The U.S.A. saved the world from the tyranny of fascism in W.W.II. Knowing nothing of the biochemical slaughter which decimated Korea, and carried on into Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. Of course, the Moon Landings were real!…saw it on CBS. There was no conspiracy behind the assassinations of 3 Kennedys, King, X, Evers, Wellstone, Lennon, and oh-so many others…solitary deranged assassins or freak accidents all.

A list of wars longer than a Summer day in Nome, Alaska. All fought for purely humanitarian reasons. Purely. Or perhaps pure crude. Terrorism has long stalked the exceptional people and their exceptional country. Let’s not go back too far, nor belabor the subject. Damn that Tim McVeigh and his fertilizer bomb in Oklahoma City! Ha! A bomb that blew in only one direction. Brilliant! Two attacks on The World Trade Center. Second time a charm. No chance of malfeasance or misinformation there. Too perfect. Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, two of earth’s most majestic structures, crashing at the speed of Newton’s apple. A 757 hits The Pentagon and leaves a hole barely big enough to fly a Cessna 172 through. Pure magic, but so believable. Brian Williams told me so, and it was widely verified on ALL the major networks. Boston Marathon Mega-Whopper. Zika! Zika! Zika! Make sure you worry your little head about it.

Noonday sun illuminates a worldwide occupation. A thousand military bases across the globe. Stealth presence in every country situated upon coveted resources. High level bribery, blackmail, assassination, coup d’etat, color revolution, regime change, economic warfare, bombs, bullets, missiles, whatever it takes to take and maintain control. Worldwide domination at all cost, and life is cheap at best. Poor lives nothing but liabilities. Kill ’em all and let some imaginary god sort ’em out. A million here, a million there. Contrived and controlled mayhem in the streets of Venezuela. Did Maduro flunk History 101? Does he believe that the world’s biggest oil reserves will be allowed to benefit poor people? The Opium Wars worked so well in China, the CIA took over the show, and is now the man to see for a good cheap high…anywhere on earth. Chemical Warfare on home turf, with a third of Empire’s subjects living in opioid la-la-land…drugged sheeple are easily herded.

Drugged, delusional, huddled masses of sheeple. Blue sheeple, red sheeple, herded into the Big Top seats. Behold The Donald on the high wire, and Hillary the Tattooed Lady. He’s an inappropriate thrill a second, and she’s got every corporate logo on earth etched into her blotchy skin. It’s the Greatest Show on Earth. The illusion of choice. Watch whichever freak you choose. Choose whichever freak you watch. The outcome is predetermined. Nothing will change. Twilight Zone Election/Selection Fiasco. Hillary’s out, Donald’s in. So what? False flags continue to fly. The great upward transfer of wealth continues. Wars rage unabated. The show must go on. And still the flags fly, and still allegiance is pledged.

Dazed, disoriented, and distraught in Empire’s twilight. Days must end, beings must die, empires must perish. It is written. Xi of China has a Heavenly Mandate to serve his people, and his country will end poverty by 2020. Empire’s destitution grows like a giant noxious weed. Putin of Russia has a nearly 90% approval rating among his populace. Show of hands please!…who loves The Donald? North Korea’s Kim Jong-un thumbs his nose at Empire, develops weaponry enough to discourage the assassins. Guess he doesn’t want to follow in the footsteps of Allende, Hussein, Gaddafi, Chavez. And Duterte of The Philippines continues to taunt Empire, showing the world his country’s bloody history of oppression under its thumb.

Like school playground bullies, empires rule by fear. Now the other children tire of the abuse. Whispers are heard. Alliances are formed. The bully’s closest allies now defect to the insurgency. The oppressor stands alone. Powerless and surrounded. The other children move closer. Will they show mercy, or beat the ruffian to a bloody pulp?

In the soft glow of twilight, a Russian SU-35 flies swiftly, vertically, nearly out of sight, into the heavens. An aerial Bolshoi Ballet ensues. Hovering. Flipping. Spinning like a child’s top. Defying gravity and maneuvering with dreamlike choreography. Powerful jet engines humming a swan song for the playground bully. There is a name for this ballet: Empire’s Twilight. Empire looks on, grudgingly understanding that its day has come to an end.

John currently resides, writes, and protests injustice in the shadow of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, and walks among the spirits of those who once occupied the 79 Disappeared Pueblos. He can be reached via email at: halls245@msn.com. Read other articles by John Rohn.