I count the villains on my fingers and watch them fall away like decrepit branches.
I wish a carpenter’s hacksaw blade would perform the last rites, but they start rising again from slush with new names – Power Politics is now called The Orange Puppeteer, Corruption is Lord Rotveil, Entitlement is King of Claims, Racism is The Shadebreaker, and Patriarchy is the Crown of Assumptions.
Their job is to generate sandstorms to restrict vision, and they are adept at manufacturing new scandals before the dust settles on previous ones.
The audience is tired, sick of all that rots beneath polished surfaces, and believes strong reactions or a protest will eliminate all the junk; yet they have an insatiable appetite for new targets to attack.
It gives everyone a perceived purpose, while the real games are played underground or in the stratosphere.
The beauty of chaos is that everything finds its own place with time, without mountains being moved or monsters being slayed.
Creative Experiments and More 