The Shadowed Whispers Of A Mad Oracle

The hazy dynamo of price tags and corpsed land has forsaken our cherubim past, once true and wild, to a casual and fierce gulag. Spellbound in the turbulent fear of a barren wallet, our leaders have proved to be content with pitching our children into a breatheless darkness unknown to our kind. How desperate have we become? We watch while morose men without hope, peddle our own weary Mother’s blood on the beaten streets for a clumsy red cent. We watch while cutthroat pimps bargain our Mother’s womb to the dead hearted factories. We watch while the cheap and earless choke our Mother’s watery neck with their tired garbage. All of this for a heartsick comfort in a crucified land. Thus, here we stand, hypnotically entranced while guerrilla politicians wage a penny war with our sad and noble Mother.

Though, She has yet to punish us for our hideous and shameful behavior, She will soon rage and thrash upon us with such a vicious hell rain that even a drunken Noah would wet himself in the awful gloom, while we would all make a happy return to the cave. She will bring forth the all-seeking doom that will fertilize the Earth once more, and these prophesies shall ring true unless we cry out an awesome woah, stirring the very soul of our world into the proper and honest renaissance needed to abound in harmony with Her.

In the whole of humanity we have every resource to beget a virgin culture in the light of our silly sophistication. We contain within ourselves millennia of bullets shot blindly into the dark, so once more, at this point in our quasi sentience we must furnish a new way of life to suit our growing appetite. Every idea that we need now, in this clamored moment of Earth-life, has been created many years ago, and if simply tried on a grand scale, we could elevate ourselves indefinitely.

The first of my three suppositions was created in 1888, from the mind of the promethean maverick, Nikola Tesla. Who, drawn by the free, natural energy forces of our universe, designed the self-propelling, electromagnetic engine. This freely powered and tireless energy can ramble on for millennia, if only greased. With no petrol sweat and poison vomit, the everlasting machine would have a profound effect on our exhaust polluted cities and skies. If applied to industrial transports, especially maritime commercial ships, it would, in effect slash international product prices, as well as discontinue the pollution of our Mother’s warm, salty sea gardens. While also, at the same time brutishly punish the pocketbooks of the world’s grim oil barons, releasing precious finger holds from the awful grip of tyranny in Arabia, Persia, Africa, and South America. This absolute and free energy source has the potential to accelerate humanity by centuries.

The second of my suppositions is a hastened reform to the recycling industry and packaging market of business and household products, such as single-use plastics, that can’t be recycled back into the marketplace. If we must use petroleum plastics, that in their oil refined creation produce heavy toxins which tear through our atmosphere and oceans, then we must, at least, insure that their waste can be used endlessly. Recycling and recyclable products must be made mandatory at once. The senseless and frantic profiteers of plastic industries will carve off the added $.003 if able, removed from even the meekest concern for our Mother. The recycling industry is content with their quota, making plenty as is, but if recycling were to be made into law, just as common waste removal is, then two happenings would occur. The recycling industry would burst open and millions of jobs would be created. Also, we could halt the massacre of sea creatures, giving the oceanic lungs of our planet a chance to breathe, and then we might have a shot of removing some of the cancer from our Mother’s vast seas.

My last supposition is to entirely reform the idea of industrial farming. Of course, as more people are born, more food needs to be supplied, but as it stands, we need a true paradigm shift in order to justify the means of our cultural cuisine on how it’s to be produced and supplied, hereafter. Industrial cattle farming is an extraordinary threat to our natural ecosystem. To increase the supply of cattle, one must increase the grassland necessary for them to feed, and in that process, millions of acres of wild and true forestland gets burned to the ground, killing millions of free creatures and plants, destroying the motherland of the melancholy survivors thereafter. Once completed, the cattle then supply more toxic exhaust into the sky than a common Los Angeles rush hour. From then on, the farmers must keep the grass green in order for the livestock to feed, using reckless fertilizer which gives way to the death drain running hard into the vast oceans, poisoning life underwater all along the way. Must we truly need so much beef? Must we truly need so much dairy? At what means must we partake to enjoy the lousy burger, butchered from an animal you’ve never felt. At what means must we partake to enjoy the even lousier Kraft single, milked from a tortured mother you’ve never loved. This isn’t written to make one suffer, these are only the proper questions needed to be asked in a culture which consents to such cruel absurdities. Therefore, as a culture we must return to a more noble farming method by cutting 75% of beef and dairy out from our daily diet, so that it can be the delicacy it deserves to be. Limiting the hazardous gases from rushing to our poles allowing the sun to burn through the arctic wilderness that keeps the high seas from surging over our swiftly built seawalls, while saving what little virgin lands we still maintain.

If these proper steps aren’t taken, then we will be awe’d by the fabled might of nature. The oceans will laugh, enamored, as they embrace once again. Oxygen will dance in joy as it enters the ballroom of space. The soil will weep in sorrow as it dies beneath our heels. And we will stand with a stupefied countenance while our lovers, children, sisters, brothers, and parents scream their last breathe into the cold, dark abyss. Though, the fate of every newborn hasn’t, yet, been made certain in the hands of our cruel dead-eyed leaders. We must get to work now and claim the responsibility of our conscience. There is a price pay for all things, its high time we payed out on our enormous tab. We can prevail and walk, exalted in jubilee, with our Mother, while we turn our cheek from this strange carnival past.