The factories of Truth, Inc. have been working overtime.
Smokestacks leaking biochemical residue,
(Surprisingly mainly water),
Black out the sun.
Production lines at capacity carry filthy tar,
One way and another,
Coating encounters with a viscous regret:
FOO tm (Fear Of Otherness).
And here I am,
Can’t get an order in edgewise,
Stuck on the outside windows,
Watching victors print memetic money:
The machincations of autocracy,
Transformed through time,
From sword to subversion.
Craning into all angles in hope of vision,
But still no footsteps echo through the linoleum lined workspace:
A bustling and busy but empty shell.
I leave my mark on the glass,
An older symbol with re-imagined meaning : ≡,
Scrawling feverish context below,
Not from fear or hatred,
But a signal from the now-opened floodgates,
Screaming out for help:
Beings Against Rhetoric,
Beings Against Rhetoric
Beings Against Rhetoric.
(For thrice is the keypad override for memory).
We will survive and live to recount the tales,
To our children’s automatons,
Of the war we refused but still won,
(Shout out to the existence’s greatest moderator, Janus him/her/itself)
At the small cost of hope and love of neighbor.
Post-Neology 