Ism Epitaph/A Toy Perpetuum Mobile

I am imbibed with a strong sense of self-righteousness. I have only taken the rains recently and already they are starting to mutiny. I love it. I thrive on loathing and despair. That is the only way to harness other people to your causes. Like Captain Ahab leading his men to sure death in pursuit of his demons, so will I lead them to conquer my wildest and most savage desires. Caligula played the harp while Rome burned. I would build a gargantuan wall around it and light a match, watch the Romans run in circles as a moth flickers near a candle.

Xanadu shall be mine, which I will transform into a barren waste land where only cacti and tumble weed can grow. My henchman will dump bio-hazard spillage into The Tigris and Euphrates rivers, creating mutant fish which would live off medical waste and plutonium.

My opponents will be stupefied. What kind of maniac goes to these extremes? The answer is simple. For one to leave a permanent mark on his society, he must scar it. I just choose to scar it in its face. Vex and dissent are the only ways in which society can move forward. Instead of a nudge on the back, one should use the cattle prod.

It is for the common wealth of the people that we must infringe on the common wealth of the people.

Portrayals of the fallen shall be shown at the same breath with those of the conspirators, for when we embrace them, we expose our backs.

Weakness is a virtue so that others might lend a hand and save our resources.

We must be divided in order to keep OUR unity stronger. There is no place for reality, which is why our academia will be the strongest and most diverse. New philosophy, philology, sociology and biology shall echo our ideology to the world.

“Galileo should have kept his mouth shut”

I shall celebrate at the table of victors, drinking out of looted goblets from indigenous houses of worship, eating meat like a ravaged animal. Pestilence will be upon my house and I shall rejoice. I will personally deliver the ten plagues but will not deliver my people to a promised land, only keep them wondering aimlessly in a vast, infertile, desolate tract, until know one will be left to tell the tale. The lord’s smite will come down on us like a rain of bricks, for which we have summoned it by dancing a circular rain dance.

Sundered our society shall remain, a Stalingrad of eternity. A desolate place where school children will come and observe through a looking glass at what once was and shall be no more.

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