Intro for the Next Little Red Book

All hat are left are caricatures of dreams that once lived. They fly through the air whimsically asking for the owners to join them there. What is there left to pursue? Anything of conquest or grandeur seems to be a blowin’ in the wind as pomposity sinks to record lows. Nothing more than marketing agents are left selling products and namely themselves, always cutting the best deal for the most compatible of cliental. What is left? Are there words? Are there songs? Sure we can rehash a few feelings, throw in a couple new scenarios, campaign for a cause which will ultimately go ignored as the world continues to turn.
Truth cries out in the streets for an open ear. Ears not plugged by headphones and Apple devices are clogged with opinion and jargon that even the one who spews it is not even sure of. To use vocabulary for such dubious gain, enjoying the accomplishment of using something new and exciting where even the painful expression of Homer Simpson has been immortalized within our hallowed vestibules. Like a pen tickling an ear so go forth the droning of the resources at the skeletal fingertips of the ever advancing megalopolis.
Left with nothing but bytes identity has been erased without a glance. From the big yellow bird to the kid with his pie we embrace one another with the conquest of the familiar roads. Voices in an endless supply on play lists churning through cognition that flickers like a dying light bulb. It is clearly dying yet it is lauded for its uniqueness and nonconformity letting the sputtering hum chide in with the volumes of public opinion. Sure it isn’t glamorous but may the glamorous be damned. For too long has propriety held down the visage that has berated this people long enough like the crack of a slave master’s whip. Decadence pours forth as splendor as the grunge cried out “Rape Me” and the children of years later join the parades that make Tim Burton seem like Mr. Rogers.
Yet we are left with the pedestals. An inward spiral of a food chain that preys on that which is weak and nullifies pain as an identity or as a gift of attention. Daddy’s little girl grows up to be all she ever wanted. Writing songs of heartache and glamour as she bares all in magazines inviting thousands to rape their minds. Words scream for meaning as “love” has been torn down to just another empty orgasm crushing the innocence of a naïve child. The seal is broken and the ache pours forth. Confusion fuels animosity as the vacuum perpetuates nothing but verbose lies and pimped out rides. Even those who despise the culture cannot live without it.
Opinions run like wildfire consuming all sense of cohesiveness. Millions march against that which they do not parading a cause that gets them attention. Vengeance lies in the heart of the masses as injustice continues to gnaw away at their lifestyle. Spanning all scopes of social class, the bourgeois and proletariat alike sink there claws deep within themselves as they do each other. A vendetta will come as the wheel is being spun to select next year’s scapegoat.
Lenin has been long dead. As has Lennon, but his message was at least catchy so it sticks around today. The banners of yesteryear have been traded in for blogs and home movies. Wayne and Garth would be proud, but frankly they were a joke to begin with. Pomposity and Novocain are sold side by side with Mountain Dew in vending machines; there is no Yellow Five which makes it less of a hazard. Society has now been left vapid. With an empire of crutches that would even make the Big Bad Wolf laugh. There will be a huff and there will be a puff.
Truth cries out and will be heard. Awaken my friends from the inebriation of the status quo and rise beyond the noise of the neon signs and personal dating ads. Truth runs up and down the streets looking for a friend in her time of agony and loneliness. In her is the wellspring of Life, a radiant kingdom paved by the blood of its humble and tender King. Blood alone turns the wheels of history and the kingdoms of the earth will become the Kingdom of our Lord. Truth will lay waste to every crutch holding up only those who have answered her ringing call.
Amidst concubines and gardens, conquests and riches, wisdom and folly there was only vanity. In a time where even that which is concrete becomes a platform of change and interpretation how much more is there vanity. He calls to pull out the IV line and feel. Awaken to that which is real and be long in the affection and groaning of heaven. He is the only physician. Escapism leads only to a catatonic state rot with cynicism and bitterness. Truth rings out and may her friends make her known, only that which is known may be trumpeted. This tree is sweet to the taste but amidst many counterfeits may she be solely feasted on.