HM?

Inevitabillity. When all things point to the enevitable, to what purpose is struggle? Trust of public officials is unwise. In their ranks rises the evil which shall destroy our world. For who can stand against the forces of the machine once it's gears are in place? As it happens to others and not you, is there always the thought it was deserved. That we had only done our job, share, part. That we had no possibility of changing their outcomes, and only seek justice when it effects us. Are we marching forward? To a place where fundementalist religions control vast armies. Bought as if they had been at a garage sale. Often at a bargain. Are the people of nations dying for the beliefs of extremist? Are we enabling it? All of us? Sit down. Stand up. Speak out. Walk out. Sit in. Strike. All tools used by movements. All equally doomed to failure. Inevitably. Forward. With greater strides runs the madman. Gleefully he chuckles and laughs. For time given the madman has allowed all the plans to come as one. To a place. A place small on the Earth, but large in it's effects. The madmans time has come. The Dark. The Evil. Devil. Demon. Death. Greed. Lust. It's time has come and it is large in the Earth. Many march to it's crimes. Goose stepping towards an Inevitable conclusion. Each with eyes wide in stark terror, as rabbits before slaughter. The Madman laughs louder. It's time is nigh, and spirits are high. Again the madman snickers, for it's ways insidious corrupted all. From the largest and mighty, to the small and weak. Even now there are struggles, and small pockets that resist it's whispers. Yet worries of them fall away with the coming destruction. The fire. The consuming. So many lives to be fed the machine. So many lumps of coal to heat the furnaces of the boilers. The machine must move forward. Forward to its destiny. For the Madman, while quite mad. Was quite sane in wishing to finally die. To die, to never be, to end it all. The Madman longed for death and had been denied far too long. The Madman shouted out a laugh long into the wind, a howl, a screaming rage, a cry of the deepest pain ripped from the soul of that which has been first damnded, its laugh fell away, its thoughts turning to the one thing which brought it some joy. Visions of it funeral. Its death. Its passing. The final rest. A form of forgivness. To sleep, and be no more. With a final glance behind it at the straggling imps who had foolishly followed its path to pain. It sped faster forward to destiny. To fate. To its time. To its death. Pockets of people cringe in the wake of the machine. They see the movements of it in their day to day lives and it sends a chill up spines. A dark forboding feeling. Like chickens running headlessly they bounce from one thought to another. One group to another. One place to another. One belief to another. Finding no reason. No understanding in what they feel. For the machine cannot function in a rational world. For the machines very purpose is that irrational to those human. Death is the machines purpose, its fuel, its reason. And humans even those seeking death, look to see another place. A hereafter. The human logic seeing only life. Here, and beyond. So it is with confusion the humans move. Each striving to stop the inevitable. To slow its coming. Some to hasten it here. For there are some who also wish the end. But they have dreams of a beyond. Again their logic is human. They believe the know or understand the machine. That its purpose is also their purpose. So on rolls the grand design. A limited time each is given to ponder the thoughts of the machine. How and why it works. What drives it. Who drives it. But it was young before the Earth. And shall be after all we know as human is gone from the Earth. It and its rider are driven to a conclusion predestined long ago to take place wheter we or any like us agree. We have but a short time to discover the simple answers, while the Madman has had eternity. Rasputin. Interesting thoughts. Empty bellies rumble and distract those wishing to commune so one should eat. There are other appetites to be filled. Should one not quinch the appetites so ones mind is cleaner, and purer? The better to be able to recieve that which follows? Or is the key in denial? Turning the body into a machine. Using it energies to better purpose. Many humans have followed paths of self denial. Believing that this meat or that meat is bad. That this sex or that sex is bad. That this dress is bad, and this is not. That this plant brings vision, that this ale be drank, that this pain must be suffered, that this blood must be spilled, that we must do something, anything, to appease our gods. Martial arts often teaches of abstaning. Turning inward all energy that would be wasted on the frivolous. What is frivolous? Why would one need martial arts in a perfect world? Why would a loving God demand one of it's crations must die to save the many? Who's damnded idea was it to spill the blood of innocents to appease gods most would rather believe loves them and cares for them? If I am cheated by one who is like me. I shall say, "HE" cheated me. But if it be one who is from across the river, I shall say, "One of those from across the river" has cheated me. Others who had also had similar occurence will relate, and soon word of all the misdeeds of those across the river will be magnified, and they as a group believed to all be alike. Much as the story they across the river have of us. For in describing what has happened we seek to explain all. And over time the descrition grows, whereas "he" can be anyone, anywhere, the other statement places an act, or actions, on a whole group because of geographical location. Such grows hatred and distrust. ethnic bias. Religious persecution. Translation, and interrpretation alone have caused much in the machines strides. Better silence than the machines throttle pulled so far back. Farming. How ingenious. How wise. What a great stride for mankind. A great stride more so for the machine. For Farming while hard work, is for the lazy. Humans had a perfectlly good planet to work with. Wake up. Hit the bushes. Walk down to the creek. Drink, wash, scratch. Now the hard part of the day. Walk around and gather food. Hey thats too hard. Hey we might starve if we don't find enough. Hey. Shuddup. There will be enough. But if we gather the whole plants. Carry them all to one place, we shall no longer have to search all day for food. We shall wake up, pee, drink, wash, scratch, and go straight to eating without wasting all day looking for food, and having to do all that senseless walking in paradise. This will leave us more time to lay in the shade, swim, have sex, and more more kids. Hey. Guess what. More kids means more food is needed, means bigger farms are needed, means more land is needed, means eventually you bump into your neighbor. I will save you the simplistic cave speech as illustration, and move right along to saying war had to happen. Whether it came about because of a fight of women, food, cave graffiti, it had to happen. Farming only speeded the process. And the Madman rolls a malevolent eye towards the wheels. Gauging the movements. Plotting actions it will take, should take, must take, a thousand years from this small struggle. It has a destiny after all. Theres a funeral waiting. It's funeral. Chuckling it eyes those small things it has always hated. Another group not far away has found a new rock. A new discovery it's own inquisitive nature feeding the Madmans plans, picks it up and plays with it for some time, before almost by accident it falls into a fire. Forgotten until much later. The human finds a strange things in the sand below the fire pit. Curiosity, inventiveness, all qualities which sound so fine, and grand and noble, used against us much as a ring in a bulls nose, as the smallest slightest tugs lead us to a destiny. This time destiny rewards some poor slob who finds metal working. A grand thing. A fine thing. The Madmans Chuckles grow deep within the machine. The gears slip a notch and its speed almost imperceptable to ones who has already known eternity, Increases. The wheels turns some. The Madman almost weeps in relief. For Mad indeed is the Madman. An eternity to remember all it's mistakes. To formulate it's plans. To wallow in it's own hate and self loathing. Long before time it was mad. Yet in madness great things come to pass.