Trust.

Curtain opens and the stage is dressed in the components of set design, blackened at the stage’s base sits the pit orchestra, conductor taps her baton on her music stand, lifts it to shoulder length and begins looping her baton through the air, directing unsaid prompts for the musicians to release a cacophony of symphonic arrangements which set the tone, as ballet dancers enter stage left and coordinate movements to their musical cues.

In the audience, a trained ear recognizes the absence of a French Horn. He leans in earshot of his guest and whispers his disdain for this revelation. He’s met with a shush from a stranger and his guest replies, “just enjoy the show.” He can’t…or…he won’t. 

Detectives specializing in kidnappings encourage the victim’s family and friends to appear on television, so they may share descriptions of their loved ones personality traits. This creates an identity for the kidnapped, hopefully, gives pause to the kidnapper’s notion that they’ve captured another face in the crowd, to them it’s another commodity, like grabbing a 12 pack of Coke off the shelf, assuming they’ll all taste the same. 

Farmers refuse to name their livestock. If they do name them, they probably read Ayn Rand and consider Social Darwinism as cause to skip legislation going through the Senate to be decided upon by the Courts instead. It’s about the end. 

Curating a false flag

At the behest of prophetic earthworms

For 

In the land of spineless creatures

Burrowing beneath the surface 

Allows them the structure 

Their back is lacking

To build and build and build 

Waiting for the collapse 

After the question arises

“Where shall we plant the flag?”

“When there’s nothing left to stand on.”

Published by akcola

AK Cola is a pop-culture war veteran.

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