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Ode To The Ship Of State
Author: Shiloh

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Well, as the Ship Of State starts to slowly sink below the waterline, leaving small bubbles that reek of sulphur-like pond disturbance, the writing seems to be on the wall - splattered on the wall, actually, as various members of the Crew Of the Ship Of State find that someone has seriously damaged their life jackets, so they are casting about in their attempts to manufacture replacements, as they fear going down with the Ship, and well they should fear such a thing.

Good side of the aisle, bad side of aisle, even middle of aisle.... they are all carriers of the stigma of being part of the crew of one of the most unbalanced and definitely interesting Ships Of State — ever. Bar none.

There has never been a voyage such as the one that is now closing up, and hopefully there will never be another. In the words of one of the Most Holy of Holies of my generation, "What a long, strange trip it has been."

So the current outgoing Crew is mud-slinging, in their selfish attempts to cast serious doubts upon the ancestory of their fellow crew members, hoping that somehow that will give them some sort of bouyancy, at least long enough to enable them to find refuge, or hide in a decent way, in the backwoods of these United States - the very same states that they did damn little for up to now, other than verbage... serving up plate after plate of promises and committee meetings and barnstorming with words and reasons why they could not do their jobs FOR the very ones who put them in their lofty positions in the first place.

They are worried.

They are going to have to change, and most do not want to go through all of that.

They will lose their positions, their monetary incomes, their prestigious perks, to go along with their already present loss of dignity and human decency.

And most do not want to go through all of that.

The writing is on the wall, and they cannot cover it or remove it now.

Pedicabo talibus fututam nobis. Screw them, as they have screwed us.

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