Dominance Games: Rancid fire

Dominance Games: Politics

Again we mock the human soul.  Again we mock the human spirit.  The cadres of popular imagery are apparent no more.  Damn the torpedoes, all speed ahead.  The more we behave badly the better we become at ability.  The more we are drunk with the powers of sure observation, the more we are observant of the void.  The emptiness of the great desert of formless nothing haunts our futures and it is a barren desert, a hot dry place.

The landscape gets cold at night, a counterpoint to the extreme heat of the day. It is an uninviting place, the future in times of trouble and uncertainty.  It mocks us, our belief in it, in its presence, its shape.  It can retreat and hide, run away or crush.  It stares us down a hungry lion.

Deal with what isn’t there.  Deal with what is.   Build monuments to what is not real.  Build real to what monuments we do not have.

A view the other side .

A view from trying to beard the tremulous lion.

The future gets cold at night.  It burns heat during the day.  It sears heat and rains acid.  It sears our nightmares, our night sweats.  It commands us our apprehensions.   The landscape gets cold at night, a counterpoint to the extreme heat of the day.  The landscape gets cold at night and rains down arrows of pain and violent hail storms of anger.

The landscape gets cold at night.  It freezes and mimics.  It throws godlike presence and excuses for the messianic.

The landscape gets cold at night and it offers fight and flight, panic and arrogance, acrimony, back bites, division,  lust, dominance and void.  It offers the fun of fear and the great chances to harness same.

The landscape gets cold at night and it offers cold power and rancid fire.

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