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2020-02-10 a
Ruminations on Ruin in a Bernays World
(Edward Bernays, a nephew of Sigmund Freud, published, Propaganda, in 1928.)

Claims and counter-claims choke the air and the airways,
They are sent from all directions, yet provide no direction;
Constantly coming as a swirling and confusing cloud.
They surround us and confound us,
We seek anchors and beacons, but beacons are few,
We weary of treading water.in the lake of lies.
We seek the shore, but it is a miasma of mendacity.

Is that the mill? The majestic mill of old?
Its stonework seems true, the plumb bob does not lie,
The massive stones collide and grind, day in, day out,
But there is mischief here, a malevolence at work,
Kernels of truth, bushels of them, unending bushels,
Are crushed by the millstones, mangled, then macerated,
The grinding never ceases, never ceases,
Truths are pulverized, then atomized, mere dust in the wind,
The dust storm is born here. Truth dies here.

Composed early Monday morning in a quiet place. If you seek the truth, go to a quiet place. It is there. I swear to you, it is there.

I'll refine this in the coming days and weeks. My best work goes through numerous revisions This was inspired by yesterday's post.

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