Wishes won and titles lost. All for the sake of my sovereignty. In allegiance to no one or nothing I am free to pursue whatever imaginary conquests the world offers or compels. Into the depth of my deception, I carry everyone who will listen and give way to sound judgment or reason. For this is my charade and you are willing or cajoled participant holding up your cardboard effigy to conceal the real person beyond it.

In what dream can this be deemed real, as I cast another spool of fishing line across the pond of those who’ve done no research, study or thinking. Or produce another reel of digital folly to suck them into the vortex of calamity awaiting all who fail in acknowledgement. What has become the real to which we find foundation? Who is the leader of my parade toward insanity and social collapse? To what sirens have I been called upon the rocks of my ship’s destruction?

Into the fields of poppy and synthetic hope I Plow with my cart seeking nap and nonsense. How ironic its pages sell as cinnamon buns for those seeking escape from pure logic. Are we to be captured by the impulses within, voices calling us to capture within the jailcells and pylons of our temporary expectation? What is time but an alarm of urgency to come to grips with the mass, acceleration and gravity of this manuscript entering denouement?

How fine the plantation of my Lordship. Casting my eyes upon the lush green acres of the taxpayers planting. Espousing the doctrines of appellate saints having earned their degrees and approval from each other. Calling their blood blue to set themselves apart from the humans they are fleecing. And to them I give fealty? Working this life through to make sure they have a seven-course meal whilst we’re starving. But there is wealth beyond station, measure and bloodline.

God is no respecter of persons. Self-erected pedestals of name and valor present not the approval of His Deity to call oneself supreme. These are the days when mud defines each of us. Either heaping it upon the subjected humanity or digging into it to find the toil in the blessings of God. For this is not freedom but fancy. I am not liberal because I hate everything God created and planted. For in antipathy, I despise my own crafting solely found in the evolutionary opportunities divine.