What mystery is there to the "prudent mind," of those modern man-children, who cannot conceive of any such Good beyond their own inanity? That there should be nothing behind the curtains of reality, whatsoever, then what? So what, that these mildewed minds cannot fathom the Noble, nor the Beauty of the mist-veiled love-of-life? why ask so stupidly the wherefore and how of their incapacity?
As they have grown into 'maturity,' those accumulated Television Dogmas and un-examined ‘ipse dixits’ withal have grown into maturity. As the Yellow Star-Thistle which chokes the life from the vast field beyond acreage and the Pampas which keeps garrisons on and chews the defenseless soil, whose stranglehold is absolute on the primitive soil, and where from the poverty of mind parachutes its vile legions of occupying seedlings, so to set its golden border-wall of mangled long-grass—repellent to creatures of the field and toxic to the virgin clime, and set against hopes of the lovely home-grasses, whose tenacious struggle could not gainsay the one-thousand rhizome encroachment!
What lunatic-hope could ascend that grassy hill, so riddled and guarded by such voracious consumers, who would lay their snares for thee to be killed and devoured? The worser still lies yet ahead, for terrible strangler-vines grow about the roots and branches of our thoughts and dreams, which have been lain under siege long before the dawn of our Nation's day, and under whose shaded crowns have we learned to grow and yearn for the Sun above.
We have been swept under the dementiatic rule of mad foaming geriatics and parasites, whose idiotic and animalistic greed have hollowed out the Nation. These yokesmen of ugliness have cultivated mushroom minds—grown in the dark, for their world is captured by only black glass and 'the Aggregate, oh the Aggregate; the colored lines and data!'—which can only offer dull apathy and slavish non-solutions of helpless anguishing and effeminate diminution.
The war of the sickly and ugly and gray against the healthy and beautiful and Good! The dark fetid funeral shroud of modern fungal "values" wants to eat away at Columbia, and the red gloaming of the Long War angrily rumbles over us, but lo! the stars in their courses penetrate the gloom and they have blazoned our triumph, like a bright fire chasing the night, into those azure companion jewels—which shine from the lofty hauberk of Heaven above! The healthy and strong will always overcome sickly and anemic people-weeds; thus the dicta of Nature: death to the weakling—death to the miserable suckling—death to the race of cowards with rot in their bones! Health must ever triumph over sickness; or else, for ever, in all places, a world of drudgery—a world of darkness—a world of fever-warm death.
As they have grown into 'maturity,' those accumulated Television Dogmas and un-examined ‘ipse dixits’ withal have grown into maturity. As the Yellow Star-Thistle which chokes the life from the vast field beyond acreage and the Pampas which keeps garrisons on and chews the defenseless soil, whose stranglehold is absolute on the primitive soil, and where from the poverty of mind parachutes its vile legions of occupying seedlings, so to set its golden border-wall of mangled long-grass—repellent to creatures of the field and toxic to the virgin clime, and set against hopes of the lovely home-grasses, whose tenacious struggle could not gainsay the one-thousand rhizome encroachment!
What lunatic-hope could ascend that grassy hill, so riddled and guarded by such voracious consumers, who would lay their snares for thee to be killed and devoured? The worser still lies yet ahead, for terrible strangler-vines grow about the roots and branches of our thoughts and dreams, which have been lain under siege long before the dawn of our Nation's day, and under whose shaded crowns have we learned to grow and yearn for the Sun above.
We have been swept under the dementiatic rule of mad foaming geriatics and parasites, whose idiotic and animalistic greed have hollowed out the Nation. These yokesmen of ugliness have cultivated mushroom minds—grown in the dark, for their world is captured by only black glass and 'the Aggregate, oh the Aggregate; the colored lines and data!'—which can only offer dull apathy and slavish non-solutions of helpless anguishing and effeminate diminution.
The war of the sickly and ugly and gray against the healthy and beautiful and Good! The dark fetid funeral shroud of modern fungal "values" wants to eat away at Columbia, and the red gloaming of the Long War angrily rumbles over us, but lo! the stars in their courses penetrate the gloom and they have blazoned our triumph, like a bright fire chasing the night, into those azure companion jewels—which shine from the lofty hauberk of Heaven above! The healthy and strong will always overcome sickly and anemic people-weeds; thus the dicta of Nature: death to the weakling—death to the miserable suckling—death to the race of cowards with rot in their bones! Health must ever triumph over sickness; or else, for ever, in all places, a world of drudgery—a world of darkness—a world of fever-warm death.