In the NYT, front page, top, right, there is the column we always expected: in Health Care, the Lobbyists and Monied Interests are winning.
Long story, short...
That is why nothing will change....short of major economic collapse, short of demonstrations and riots, short of revolutions and upheavals...nothing will change in Washington, D.C.; nothing will change in the adamantine hearts of this generation.
If we have a penny, we shall not give you a mite. If we have a dollar, we shall not give up a penny. If we have a million, we shall not give up a thousand to lighten your burden, and to ensure peace and social discord.
We spit in the Face of God and His Mother - "He casts the mighty from their thrones, and raises the lowly".
We are on borrowed time.
I don't use literary devices or tropes when I say that I have seen myself as Ausonius, writing poetry in the cold of the autumn of the Roman Empire. I know I write for the future, a different future where this generation is a sad and miserable memory.
"I am Ausonius, Decimius Ausonius - grammarian, rhetorician, soldier, poet, and confidant of emperors - and I stand in Gallia. I am at my place in Burdigala, and I feel the cold wind of Fall blowing from Alemania upon my leathery cheek."
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2 comments:
I truly wish you didn't capture my thoughts and feelings so perfectly. But all we are, really, are insubstantial little mites of light, as transitory as a breath, but not nearly so essential.
I feel better knowing which way the wind is actually blowing...
I wanted it to be different, but it isn't.
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