America A Child Grown Old

Drunk on surfeit, blinded by power, the Romans of the first century feasted on the emptiness of cruelty.

Jesus saw it coming. We Shoot Prophets, Don't We? He told that woman to weep for herself and her children. He knew they would kill him. His suffering would last but a few hours. The cup of sorrow he carried was for the poor, dumb bastards who would suffer for a seeming eternity under guys like Pilate. The sword has its moments. Given the state of Medicare, maybe not a bad way to go.

So, in expectation of greater pleasure, the world becomes a disappointment. Glorious sunshine is overlooked because it's too hot or too cold. The exquisite sensation of wind on the face is ignored 'cause we just got dissed by de boss. Freakin' retards.

Even the vainglorious Number Two (Ian McKellan, aka Gandlalf, in The Prisoner remake) is savvy enough not to have been blinded by his dungeon masters - "The world is not a pretty thing when you look at it too close. We fell in love with atrocity. We make pornography and call it news."

We have lost our collective soul. We have not grown up, we have simply grown old. The tragedy of life is of our own making. We relieve our misery belittling our loved ones.

Alas!

Bring our brothers and sisters home.