Ideology

A Haughty Proposition

It is, I thought, beneath my chair.
And angrily I cried: “Perdition!
Up from out of in under there!”

Preposition, proposition.  Potato potato.  Homophones.  Headphones.  The term ideology originates from French idéologie, itself deriving from combining Greek: idéā (ἰδέα, ‘notion, pattern’; close to the Lockean sense of idea) and -logíā (-λογῐ́ᾱ, ‘the study of’).  All men are created equal. What of/ by/ for?  We are all mortal.  Some of us are born a few decades apart.  We, the living, are created equal.  Other than that, it’s luck of the draw, fucker.  Study of ideas is not exactly the same as repeating them. But you get the idea, maybe.

Some fool just smacked some other fool on TV.  Now what.  Civil War, maybe.  It does not seem that the cause we so nobly advanced has advanced far enough over Cemetery Ridge.  Because the clown laughed about raw dog bald-head wife. And somebody was disrespecting somebody’s shit.  Then we get lost in the costumes and choreography.  Not to mention the music.  To say nothing of the dog.  The ballet hit Nelson in the chest and tore a small hole in the heart, mortally wounding the large man. Nobody said shit.  Guess why. 

Communists and Capitalists 

Little at Gettysburg we thought
To find such haven; but God kept it green.
Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen.

Henry waited for the boat to land.  He knew the James, and the Onondaga people… not the ironclad.  We have one thing further to say, and that is We heartily recommend Union and a Good Agreement between you our Brethren.  Now Tom delivered the gold.  Soon it will be on its way to City Point where can do some good.  Inventing a means of production is hard.  So is seizing them.  Buying them is easer… for now. 

Sheridan is a crazy asshole… but Jubal is safe in Lynchburg.  Carl has connections.   Tredegar ironworks and Virginia State Armory have no iron. It is the workers who have value.  They carry it with them like precious pearls… locked inside their hearts, visible only to ones who have the sight and it’s only a seed, nurtured like a baby- maintained like a machine.  Our fair Daisy is doing the same in Harrisburg, and Father Abraham is gone. 

“Poor fellow,” he mused, “I wish I could have given him this beautiful moon.”