Is it that time already? The grey days of winter may yet turn into the storm funnels and Windigo blowdowns, dark storms and chain lightning fill the sky for spring, the gypsy moths heralding the portentous summer either fire or ice, I’m surprised we don’t hear the sound of the grinding chewing of Judas, the city of Dis or suburbs all plugged in to various generators of power; James Bay, Indian Point, Three Mile Island, our technological advancements balanced on rocks, ice, and sand banks holding back the cold and salinating waters so many rivers treated like drainage ditches, diverted as holding tanks for drinking water and propellant for power stations.   The Ice Giants of Hy-Brasil having nothing on how we can level so many mountains like sand castles and sift them into piles.

We “like” something on the book of Face and a penguin dies.  Every time we masturbate to [your item of pleasure here] God kills a kitten.  As I upload this post, I hear my power adapter buzz with each key stroke and transmission.  These digital pulses and tweets are still part of the shit, fuck, and cunt of nature, hairy, in pain, living in fear cold and hungry.  You know when it is twenty below zero, animals live out there.  You know the wild fires that move several miles an hour, animals have to run.  You know, for millions of years we were out there too, like animals.

The quiet span between wars is soon to end.  We have industry already looking for the next outlet to plug in to, the next market for their tools; we are already searching for another front, a Stormfront for expending our arsenal and diverting our treasure.  Our nation has become that power we fought in the trenches of Verdun, the cliffs of Normandy, the factories of Stalingrad, there are horrors that are being discussed that will soon be burst upon our own hometowns, a ravaging of our lives, but not the fantasy of those science fiction writers, not the fears of the NRA radicals, not the prayers of the Doomers, but a fascism that is inclusive, subtle, drawn by Shepard Fairey, blessed by Banksy, and with an anthem sung by LMAO.

We are entering an age after history has ended.  It is not another Watergate, not another Vietnam, not another WWI, not another Hitler, not another Mutt and Jeff despite adding the suffix “gate” alluding to the Tet Offensive, wondering about the spring of 1913, asking “who else liked cream corn?… Hitler” or saying Glee is so MuttandJeffatarian in its humor.

History indeed ended, but not at the Neo Cons had hoped.

Positive Liberty has fallout too.  Everyone can’t have everything at any time, we can’t get pizza delivered twelve miles or order cat food online, or stop by a 24 Hour KentacoHut for a Turbodog or FlickenChicken or Fish O’Whatever and not have an impact on our environment, degrade our world just a little and erode our experience on earth.  Or perhaps we can.  There are several very positive thinkers out there, magical realists who see expansion as eternal and our ability to innovate under pressure as a reality, and it is strange that those who worship The Fountain Head and Manufacturing Consent combine more often than they think when it comes to an inability to understand that the music can stop.  It’s not a matter of devising a way to have more of us have more pie or give more pie to those heroes of industry.  This still imagines that there is eternal amounts of pie…. We on Left and Right stuff our faces and complain about the plight of the masses, or the job creators, or both, or just stuff our faces, but this is simple to do to the extent that we forget that food is hard won without so many magical instruments all turning away and that at the flick of a series of switches, these turbines can stop spinning.

The Fountainhead of Consent has fallen about the land.  We don’t seem to appreciate how we are sliding to a future where control is pervasive and yet invisible.  It hard to fight against police check points, harder to appreciate drones flying high overhead.  It is easy to spot old-tyme propaganda, harder to shut off slick and chatty public relations campaigns.  It is simple to rally against censorship but harder to know what The Googles removes from our searches, how pages are ranked, how media shut off stories that are not for the MSM since they express a different narrative than what the Curriculum proposes.  A dictator can be killed, a corporation can dictate forever, and we can’t say Yum, Inc. is like Hitler and be taken seriously because, Yum, Inc. and Hitler don’t have much in common…. Except you know who else liked hamburgers?  Yum, Inc.  Hitler was a vegan.

And so spring is here but there is no more SOVIET thaw.  The ice is indeed building up everywhere in our scoliotic society, our emerging ruling classes who are a United Colors of Benetton tied together through greenbacks and precious metals.  The front eroding our Natural Rights will merge soon with aggressive low pressure systems from both north and south.  All manner of havoc will creep up the many avenues of power and valleys across this land combining into a vortex The European Center for Medium-Range Weather Forecasting or NORAD, or Aunt Nora cannot predict, the morning forecast sounding more like a Nostradamus prediction than the weekend outlook.

Already these two dominant Stormfronts are showing some of their hand.  The snow pack is light out west.  The dip in temperature in the east may not off all the bugs.  Old Man River continues to dry up.  The drones are already buzzing far overhead.  The Great Black Hope is turning out to be Bush Lite.  Somewhere out west a seed from Monsanto will sprout and put another independent farmer out of business.  The pillars of commerce may or may not be shaken by budget cuts as so many “lawmakers” have mistaken our national interest with a game of Jenga.  High up in the sky water clings to particulates and the clouds lower and darken.   This weekend, I plan my garden crops, and hope for the best.

This is the millennium of Aftermath It ain’t gonna be nothing after that. Dr. Dre