Tomorrow We Dance To Freedom






The Empire and Its Outlands

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Irrelevancy taints those who play games in shadows, those players that share shades of unconcern, the disconnected few, disembodied islands, those who are separate but unequal to the inhabitants outside their rarefied amusement park. We've tried to reach them but no one's returned. A crescent of fire burns to the sky: a warning to those who'd attempt to make sense of their illogic, their inconsistency, and their slowly sinking crystal palaces.

Rushing forward out of our darkness moves effortlessly a beam of levitating light that seeks with each rainbow colored slices any trace of decency. A search begins for the relevant meaning filled blocks of real life last seen out in the Outlands far removed from the now partially submerged palaces.

There is movement, a quivering indistinguishable form scurries back behind some dust-encrusted countertop. The "Book of Illogic" is handy, ready to pull out at a moment's notice to translate their gibberish into meaningful coherent strands of communication. Closing their eyes when seen allows them the solace that comes with ignorance. Theirs is an existence molded by indulgence that was sold to the highest bidder leaving tatters were streamers once proudly waved down immense halls.

These field trips pump relevancy back into an ancient religion founded in blood; a potent scorching steel blade. Unsheathed it vanquished many beyond its self-preserving impervious upper crust. No need to heed the anguish of the vanquished for they thought they would vanish into the distance that is obscurity. They're lack of dynamism brought them destruction; a force thrusting outside of their honeycomb of self-congratulation penetrated - it sowed dissention among their ranks. A squall of bickering could be heard while they tore one another apart.

Some believed. Most questioned. Although the "Outlanders" saw little relevance in what the dynasty conjured up they still desired to understand their gibberish becoming more incomprehensible - for they thought they must. Very little time remained but all couldn't possibly comprehend for the cost was too high. Nevertheless even with the invisible beams of delusion emanating night & day from the heart of the capital, destitution trounced us from behind.

Prepare for the outbursts are hideous sounds that when heard unprotected have driven many an "Outlander" mad. Grab a bench solidly anchored to real life, that mess that yields so few rewards. It may be your salvation from the falsehoods hurled by those benders of truth - hold tight, don't loosen your grip.

Walking into the colors of the bright beam equips a dead spirit with energy to penetrate the secrets of the past, the wisdom to roll their events into a coherent pattern of experience. Most will be left behind; only a significant tiny fraction will be allowed to transcend destruction. Seeing the unfolding of foretold events doesn't necessarily insure belief for belief comes unscathed in a clear comprehension not a shaped ghost of the insubstantial. Tear from that ghost for it is the representation of a transitory piece of mind provided only to sooth into a comfortable complacency.

Down the path come two choices, relevancy or irrelevancy. Which will you choose?