Aliens (American Revelation XXI, Eight.)

 Hess: So what shall we toast to, boys? I can blather on about “To health” or “To success,” but I’d like to do somethin’ a little less rote. Where you from, Brown Eyes?

Migs Mayfield: How ’bout a toast to Operation Cinder?

Hess: Now there’s a man who knows his history.

Mayfield: No, I don’t just know it. I lived it. I was in Burnin Konn.

Hess: Burnin Konn?

Mayfield: Mmm.

Hess: That was a hard day. I had to make many unpleasant decisions.

Mayfield: Yes, you did. Entire city gone in moments, along with everybody in it. We lost our whole division that day. Man, that was like 5-10,000 people.

Hess: Yep. All heroes of the Empire.

Mayfield: Yeah. And all dead.

Hess: Well, it’s a small sacrifice for the greater good, son.

Mayfield: Depends on who you ask, don’t you think?

Hess: [irritated] What you gettin’ at, trooper?

Mayfield: All those people, the ones who died, was it good for them? Hmm? Their families? The guys I served with? Civilians, those poor mud scuffers, died defending their homes, fighting for freedom. Was it good for them?

Hess: But we’ve outlasted them, son. They’re eating themselves alive. The New Republic is in complete disarray, and we grow stronger. You see, with the rhydonium you’ve delivered, we can create havoc that’s gonna make Burnin Konn pale by comparison. And then they’re gonna turn to us once again. You see, boys, everybody thinks they want freedom, but what they really want is order. And when they realize that, they’re gonna welcome us back with open arms. Ah. To the Empire.

[Mayfield chuckles, then fires a blaster at Hess' chest, killing him instantly. He and Mando then shoot their way out of the mess hall] ~From The Mandalorian, Season 2, Ep. 7 "The Believer"

...

And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine. ~Revelation 6:5-6

...

Nameless One: “Shadow of this life?”

Dhall, Dustman scribe: “Yes, a shadow. You see, Restless One, this life is not real. Your life, my life, they are shadows, flickerings of what life once was. This life is where we end up after we die, and here we remain. Trapped, caged, until we can achieve the True Death.”

Nameless One: “True Death?”

Dhall, Dustman scribe: “True death is non-existence. A state devoid of reason, of passion, of sensation.” [Dhall coughs] “A state of purity.”

Nameless One: Sounds like oblivion, why would anyone would want that? 

~from Planescape Torment

I saw this crap this morning while I was writing my previous post.

It's an understatement to say "I'm so tired of these fucking people."

Sorry to point this out, but there's a certain percentage of Americans that crave literal oblivion if they can't be the only people who get to exist.

That's the secret sauce here, that's the "Grievance" that animates all this MAGA horseshit.

Their actual fucking problem is simply that other people exist.

Again, I used to be a conservative and I was not taught this way.

I mean, I did in fact spend a lot of my time, growing up, in pretty homogenous environments and surrounded by a lot of older people...although I'd say relatively few of them were as shitty as the one in Stonekettle's OP.

But then the environment a hell of a lot of those people had to live in, in their own formative years, simply didn't allow for the level of self-destructive selfishness that's so prevalent today.

I mean, acting like I see people act on a routine basis even around here (less than an hour from where I spent much of my time growing up) would have gotten people beat up 35-40 years ago and that is not a joke.

But then, the Great Depression and WWII were the formative experiences of my grandparents' generation and I was, in part, raised by said grandparents because my Mom worked all the time.

If I have to explain to you the level of caustic comments my Grandpa would have had for somebody who wanted a robot more than an actual woman? You simply haven't been paying attention, as much as I've written about him.

But the fact is there's a hell of a lot of dudes out there who'd rather have (in effect) a blow up doll, or C-3P0 with tits, than a woman with an actual opinion and resources of her own that she brings to the table.

And I'm fucking sick of this garbage.

You know, even if all this "Conservative" bullshit was true? It isn't but let's say for a second maybe...no individual, no nation or people, is ever judged by how they treat the mighty, the privileged, or the rich.

How do I know that??

Because I've read the Lord's Word, that's why.

But, These Fucking People are trying to make a New Religious Movement out of their idiocy, privilege and wealth.

It won't work, but they'll try.

And when it doesn't, they will destroy themselves.

I don't have to say this, these assholes say it damn near every day.

Way back in 2004 at Barnes & Noble in Midland, MI I bought an "Encyclopedia of World Religions" such as they were at the time.

I couldn't help but note (and I was still at least technically a conservative Christian at the time) that the further away from ancient roots one got, the more hokey and strange and freaking obviously made-up the shit seemed to get.

Like, I could certainly see the merits of most ancient world religions, even then (and note also I'd deployed to the Middle East and gone to Egypt with my college friend) that Christianity, Islam and Judaism were all cut from the same cloth. Mormonism or the Moonies? Not so much. Buddhism, Hinduism etc. I could understand, less so than the Abrahamic faiths but I could still understand them. Falun Gong or Satya Sai Baba? Not really.

Don't even get me started on shit like Raelianism (UFO worship) or outright celebrity worship.

And again, when I read this I was a Republican. Specifically, a leftover Reaganite Libertarian-inflected Republican. 

To me Trumpism is basically the Raelian version of political "Conservatism." (And I actually couldn't help but notice that there's a Swastika right smack in the middle of the Raelian symbol.)

And I'm not joking when I say a lot of Trumpers that I know or have heard of buy into all that Discovery Channel, Ancient Aliens crap.

So yeah, when I say that Trumpers will ultimately rather worship AI, demons, robots, or Trump himself as an idol than follow the Lord Jesus Christ at all, much less His actual teachings? It's not a joke.

Some of us would rather worship aliens or "Identify" with a Deceiver's bright lights and bullshit than accept reality.

Truth, like it or not, is the only thing that gives most people a floor to stand on to push back against Power.

You either believe in freedom, and in Truth, or you don't.

And you're either willing to fight for it or you're not.

Pick a side.

There seems to be a reason that privileged people don't give a shit about the Truth.

Just sayin.'

Слава Україна!

You may talk o' gin and beer,
When you're quartered safe out 'ere
An' your sent to penny-fights and Aldershot it.
But when it comes to slaughter,
You will do your work on water
And you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in India's sunny clime, where I used to spend my time
A servin' of 'er majesty the Queen
Of all them Black-faced crew, The finest man I knew
Was our regimental Bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!"
You limpin' lump of brick-dust Gunga Din!
Hai slippy hitherao, Water! Get it, Pannee Lao
'You squidgy-nosed old Idol, Gunga Din.' 

~Rudyard Kipling, Gunga Din.

Seven

My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn't
dammit: No tears.
I'm stone. I'm flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night slanted against morning. 

I turn this way—the stone lets me go.
I turn that way—I'm inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke. 

I touch the name Andrew Johnson; 

I see the booby trap's white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman's blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet's image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I'm a window.
He's lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman’s trying to erase names:
No, she's brushing a boy's hair.

~Facing It, by Yusef Komunyakaa, US Army Veteran