Election season is an unraveling freak show! Think of lucid nightmares that wake to the hell of another nightmare and another nightmare until phantasm reels you into a sucking sink hole of trapped wretchedness. You pant, you scream but there's no saving from false awakenings. It's bad like that - there's no escape.
Now - think of manure - a fresh wide field and you in the middle of it! Wherever you turn stench assaults you. Each step you take for a planned escape is a foot of never ending path of muck,
It's bad like that - there's no escape.
And then the flies! O' the flies! Let me tell you about the flies...
Buzzing buzzing buzz buzz regiments and assemblies of screwball political derelict fantasists, haw shaw pseudo experts - potty instant lawyers, mystic constitutionalists, and deranged opinion puke twits'who will inundate your sensitivities with their skunk breath take on everything and everyone.
Drunk in the arena of their drama'a-a-ass' as they spew their unsolicited jerk expert mentholated reasoning for everything. Mind you, they will immodestly snag you to speak'a spell, then decapitate your own self respecting standpoint because...you're a butterfly and they just happen to be a fly.
In the middle of all these mental excrement, one must have the strength of mind to separate from the idle twaddle and comprehend with a personal devotion, the what and wherewithal of the present material time and land of country one has been gifted by the divine.
What, in spite of the mayhem can one do to positively reflect a working hope and a triumph of way in spite of the headless clucking of men ( and women) ? For inspiration, I have found the immortal words of the beloved Dr. Jose Rizal, whose poetry to the land is a saving breath of grace from this circus of clowns
To the Philippines
Rizal wrote the original sonnet in Spanish
Aglowing and fair like a houri on high,
Full of grace and pure like the Morn that peeps
When in the sky the clouds are tinted blue,
Of th' Indian land, a goddess sleeps.
The light foam of the son'rous sea
Doth kiss her feet with loving desire;
The cultured West adores her smile
And the frosty Pole her flow'red attire.
With tenderness, stammering, my Muse
To her 'midst undines and naiads does sing;
I offer her my fortune and bliss:
Oh, artists! her brow chaste ring
With myrtle green and roses red
And lilies, and extol the Philippines!
TO THE PHILIPPINES
( another translation fro the original Spanish poem)
Warm and beautiful like a houri of yore,
as gracious and as pure as the break of dawn
when darling clouds take on a sapphire tone,
sleeps a goddess on the Indian shore.
The small waves of the sonorous sea assail
her feet with ardent, amorous kisses, while
the intellectual West adores her smile;
and the old hoary Pole, her flower veil.
My Muse, most enthusiastic and elate,
sings to her among naiads and undines;
I offer her my fortune and my fate.
With myrtle, purple roses, and flowering greens
and lilies, crown her brow immaculate,
O artists, and exalt the Philippines!