Musings: The Politics of Betrayal ~ “If I do nothing will the plot arrive unannounced at my doorstep?”  by LJ Frank

The abstractness of blood on the ground. Source: Anon.

In memory of a veteran, a friend who took his life this week.

 “In order to be prepared to hope in what does not deceive, we must first lose hope in everything that deceives.” ~ Georges Bernanos

“Someone is always willing to pay…No need to believe in either side, or any side. There is no cause. There’s only yourself. The belief is in your own precision.” ~ Max von Sydow (Joubert), Three Days of the Condor

 The politics in the Capitol is one of betrayal, the blood that spills from an authoritarian and ruthless political leader’s hands is deflected on to those he devalues, people are the product and the self-righteous wealth is ultimately compassionless with sinister motives, pseudo-Republicans grin as they congratulate themselves with obscene back channel maneuvers and then go on vacation, the bulge in their digital clothing is an erection of delight for their investors, and as they look in the mirror they smile and ask “isn’t everyone the same” yet “know” they are better within their own mind than the common lot of people, and they look aside when walking past the homeless veteran, motherless child, the physically and mentally challenged and all those not in their class;

 What actions are available when your vote is sabotaged, who will speak on your behalf and your loved ones when the agendas of those in power have lobotomized the Republic, and democracy is no longer recognizable;

 A multitude of diversions are marketed each day, with meaning exterior to the human mind, man invents, the word God being his greatest, that echoes in the cathedrals of the brain searching for un-dogmatic theology of existence, some moments are a lifetime and other lifetimes but a moment, what is work or play when there is no longer a road to inner peace and the poverty of the spirit grows and no food is placed on the table;

 To catch a breath is a struggle weighed down with the chains of corrupt law enforcers and the gavels of judges and back door religious alliances, conversations focus on the conversion of self-identity, individual meaning bewildered, the narcistic judgment of those who think they know, transcending the mere want of acceptance and affirmation;

 The clouds creep across the sky as I hurry my pace, the rain is a pandemic, a plague on the conscience, corruption sullies human trust, the obscenity rises in pitch while the golfer golfs, the pen might be mightier than the sword, but behavior can destroy love, what are the metrics we use in life to measure what Is just, do we create ladders that either ascend or descend while living the intersectionality of life;

What is a real man or a real woman, constructs to help manipulate and categorize for how would we “tolerate” without labels,  power does not relinquish itself as those who possess it know, the ambiguities of existence are doctrinal revelations linked to money and false alliances defending freedom with disparate familial policies to affect the allegiance of people who dance to their own rhythm;

And the illiteracy of the intolerant demands a final say, Jesus is weaponized but not for peace, and the echo chambers awaken with a fervor, and opaque networks are unfettered with rules and rituals bespeaking cash on delivery, while the author of Ecclesiastes, Qohelet, observes – all is vanity.