I am not mourning my exile. I am celebrating my freedom and hard realized moderation. Of course I am, like most of us here...who still peck away on Our Salon, over the hill. Father Time has no power over me; My plan is in play and my fate is sealed.
Winter on the estuary is brutal. I look at the calendar and become content to be elsewhere now. Not so in early October, but that has passed, and now I would be wishing myself elsewhere as I had always done. Being cold and wet was never fun for me.
I played many roles over the more than half century I coexisted with the MIC’s countless contracted collection of special operators, mostly outdoors but not totally. We were disposable, and inexpensive to run. We did what we were told, and in my case...I could wear a suit and pass for white, even though I had gone feral even before the MIC put the bite on me.
Players play...the plot, plans, and purpose of the really big show was not revealed to us. Bit players are prepared and inserted to create an environment others determine. Players play, but also perceive. It was no less impossible to see than it was to know what the MIC was up to. It was not only none of our business, curiosity could be fatal.
A good child puts his toys away neatly. The MIC that built us was neat, and cared about the numbers, but more about the mission. The mission was national security, and then it changed. I’m not going to argue this, but it is my best guess.
The MIC is not a democracy, and never was. I never knew who was in charge...or if any one knew. The party held the MIC in check, but eventually the MIC swallowed the party. I think I saw this transformation close up...but I was pretending not to.
The MIC does not do justice, freedom, or moderation. It does not operate well without strong guidance and close supervision. The MIC is now a post adolescent with frightened parents...locked upstairs in their bedroom as chaos reigns all over their empire.
Transition...does not have to be chaotic, but Facism is hard to shake off. American Fascism is not Trumpism, or Trump. The Clintons were fascist, and of course much smarter than Trump, but fascist.
Chaos is messy...but not necessarily permanent. Humanity might survive. I’m not driving, I’m fearlessly optimistic.