The New Land

I have heard of a newly discovered land where Truth and Light both travel at the speed of 55 mph. This slows things down quite a bit. The poor and suffering don't seem to appreciate it, but the well-off are quite happy with the state of affairs.

Treasons, Strategems, and Spoils are light of foot, and run quickly about, sometimes approaching that old bug-a-boo that exists in our universe: the Einsteinian speed of light.

Disease and Sickness have been politicized, and turned into the hash-browns of politics, dispensed after an election by the party victorious.

Religion straddles the fence dividing the lands of Farmer Disbelief from those of Farmer Inane-and-Jejune.

If you travel faster - or if you seek the Truth faster - than the slow liesurely 55 mph, a policeman will appear from behind a billboard and fine you for impeding traffic. When the Lie rules, speed is of the essence. All things must be accomplished before...before....well, before things break down, if I have to say it. I mean it is like financial bubbles: they can only last so long...so you had better be quick. If you can't be quick enough, then slow down time, elongate it, stretch it out, so your plans may come to their hideous fruition.

Philosophy hangs out in Vegas. I saw him there playing Black Jack, drinking free booze, and smoking coffin nails. A pair of floozies hung on his shoulders, name of Persuasion and Politics-as-Usual.

The night sky in Las Vegas is totally obscured by the light pollution from the casinos, so I walked into the desert, and I headed to the Observatory behind the hills. Once there, I found that Light had slowed even more, that no stars at all were visible - the light wouldn't reach us for a thousand years.

Even though these paragraphs here are about 17 millimetres apart on the display, I have written them down over the course of centuries. The Einsteinian time involved is immense, and requires a serious temporal inflation for the government to be able to pull it all off.

Me? I live in that high-rise where the giraffe is the door man. He delivers the mail as high as the 12th floor.

There's a Margarita Party tonight in the Aquifer out back. It's a lot lower than last year, so they removed the diving board in July during the seasonal low water. It's all cyclical. It'll all come back.