Power Corrupts

 

 

 

On the occasion of cuttting ties with an ambiguously named ISP; This is a celebration!

Finally, after years, decades perhaps, another provider was discovered to take on the company with the most hated business model in America. It's called competition, and the service is provided at half the fee of the outfit that hires Somali pirates to take its service questions. Poor bastards. I don't blame them. The pirates that is.

Of course, pirates being pirates, separation was not achieved without a little bloodshed. I'd offered to negotiate my leaving. That, of course was a fool's errand. Talk to a bot once after midnight that proclaims it needs a human being representative for decision making but then, confronted with certain facts, claims that a human being is not qualified for decision making. Which adds to the confusion and leads to the benign question, "who the fuck is making decisions?!"

You hear that a lot nowadays, for all types of functions. But, this is America, after all. Could be the other side of the globe, if you're not  paying attention, such as expressed in a famous quote by a former Deputy of Defense Rumsfield citing his unknown knowns or, more succinctly, "All your resources are belong to us", after considering what they say compared to what they do.
Rather than petitioning for a moral high ground, allow me to point out the reason for hope from the basis of one of us who has "seen it all" and adjusted reasoning and reaction just to help it get better.
No, it isn't pretty. But it is characteristically human. Which means it will get worse before it gets better.
Once hardship presides, it's a few short steps to starting over. Consequences for playing rough are set aside, one might say. What other choice is there? The one you make. The Known  is expressed by observable actions, be they supported by Force, or its waning strength. 
How is it then the meek shall inherit the earth? Because they're still here, and they're mad as Hell. Come and find out.

***

'O no, you first, I'm right behind you - 

And then BAM! a weight like a massive stone descending on its sunken chest, disrupting the FA Cup semi on the biggest screen available in this awkward sanctity, it's gauche decor with some really shoddy lighting ensconced in a musty old basement, cobwebs hung heavy in every corner with dust.

It's the space preserved for the winner's history. A lonely place, one adorned with all the self perpetuated trophies and thoughtless certificates of award to and from it's own image given away like toothpicks at one of those tawdry, low-buck functions, virtues described in a fiction by Louis L'amour, ineffectual and moot. All in all, and one after another, they demarcate the unintended consequences born of a self congratulatory, good old boy board of directors.

A republic, like any other that stood before it, it hasn't spoken to its insufferable spouse for days on end.

As it falls, in slow motion impossibly ridiculous for its sheer, dead weight and fathomless hubris, an arrested scream remains unresolved, stifled in its throat. But for the epiphany of knowing it's too late - there it hangs suspended for what seems an eon, then head first into its plate of beans and sausage, dead dead dead.

the full moon declines
and then
the next morning of spring
春の翌朝、満月の辞退