What good are eyes, though, we could ask, when we see not the Truth, nor any of the minor ‘t’ truths of our political world, or our lives as we live them day in day out and so on until we die as absurdly as we have lived.
Lear must ask the same when he is on the heath. He comes to wisdom only after his folly. Does he actually though? Have we yet? Most of us are the same as Lear; Lear was a fool; I am a fool. He was a fool from the start. I am no different. His hubris leads to his emotional blindness; hubris is already blindness. Who has greater exaggerated pride than I do? We are stumbling around the coffee table of our lives, hands stretched out in the light of day unable to see two feet in front of us. I am waiting for the chickens; they do usually come home to roost. I bang my shin hard into the table.
The visionary company we think we keep; what do I keep–every jail is a keep. Prepackaged media sponsored wisdom. America is lost. Hegemony in the world? There is always one nut in the nut house who can stir the other nuts–shell them, you could say.
The visions I have, the company with them that I keep. As suggested, to keep another way to imprison. What visions do we pay attention to–and we should pay attention more closely–read our lives better than we seem capable. I close my eyes and see all that I see within, the back of my lids as when I lay me down to sleep, a screen for other shadow plays. A montage of the rich getting richer, the powerful more powerful than ever. America, America, Moloch’s dream, America.
The Falling Leaf Review 