Don’t miss the back of the book story description below.
Dear John Lennon. That’s the title of a non-fiction book I want to write. I want to take each verse of his silly sentimental crap-song “IMAGINE” and make them into chapters where I systematically dismantle this liberal anthem and expose it for the absolute stupidity on a stick that it is. The meat of sacred cows is the tastiest. I think it would sell a few copies.
As a writer/storyteller, I laugh at the song’s childish, Marxist sentiments, but for a while in my life, as you perhaps did or do, I loved that song. I held up the cigarette lighter in the concert hall of my soul and swayed to the dreary melancholy self-righteousness of the song without questioning it. I wagged my finger, “maybe someday you’ll join us, and the world will be as one[–you narrow minded stick in the mud.]” I failed to think through what it was actually promoting.
In 2013, the belief in the sacredness of the 60s ideals (which is what the Democrat ideal is) and the Beatles and all that good bit of rot make me think of the people who said, “We don’t like that negro music or rock and roll in this here town.” (Who where Democrats then!) But, alas, liberal message/ideal has been slick-o-fied by contemporary media, art, and culture.
When I tell stories of characters in my book, if there is “nothing to kill or die for” the story is road kill …and I will add so is existence itself if there is nothing worth dying for.
Lennon sings about life on earth, not heaven, because he’s already said don’t imagine heaven or hell, He wags a finger in your face when he sings, “I wonder if you can”. He sings about the ongoing liberal fantasy of Utopia, the persistent naïve belief that man can perfect man. As conservatives, we know this is impossible and we plan for it. We do not believe in the devine right of kings or the secular humanism of a Nanny Statist.
It is these types of songs, books, movies, education, and new age religions that have crept into the vacuum left behind when liberty-loving people retreated from the artistic and educational worlds. You can “get out the vote” all you want. But, if you ignore culture you are drawing from a dying source you are not cultivating.
My dear conservatives! CREATE! Stop thinking you can only help the world with one more vote or one more piece of legislation. The people who can appreciate your dreams are thinning out, seduced by weeds of political correctness.
I mean seriously. Look at this thing. I don’t like Picasso’s art work for the most part. When I see a work of art I look for beauty. Something that makes me go “Ah yes …very nice”. Perhaps Picasso is accurate about aspects of life and reflects those well but he’s not cheerful. In this world full of cruel irony and lost sentimentalism, I frown when I look at this thing.
I wouldn’t have one of his paintings in my house. However, this is how I feel today; disjointed, out of place, broken and thrown back together as if the maker lost his plans and guessed where things might go.
The music is far from the instrument, my hands are small, eyes are lifeless. I can’t figure out what goes with what. I’m sitting in my own lap, licking my own tongue. Shadows with no maker. I feel this is how people see me too …at least for now. But, my hands tremble as I calmly assure them …this is not me …let me get myself together. I plead …please wait. I am impatient with me too …and justly so …and I’m growing that way with the world.
Is my vision disjointed? What corrections can you make? With one move the picture could focus or fall apart. Because I’m disjointed my strength fails me. I’m three people or just one. Blocky, square, rounded and colorful but unmatched. My clothes are out of style. Victim of cubism and the cry of a collage life. I am pieces of discarding beginnings. Shadows look through me and reach around. I’m hooded and lonely like a leper. Am I here or there? My jaws out of joint and mute like the painting.
For God’s sake …please know that this is not me. From afar you’ve seen pieces and set them together with innocent misconceptions. To know me fully will help you arrange these snap shots, these flat squares of my life that hang on the walls of your heart. It is not me. I, the momentary broken Humpty Dumpty, as all the king’s men shake their mythical heads. Pray I can be put back together, at least partially and put back upon the wall. With a little help from my friends and the best that’s in me and the God I’ve doubted I shall reunite my broken hinges.
The older I get I realize nothing is wrong with being a healthily co-dependent (though I’m been doggedly independent) and that the high point over two promising hearts holding hands is a God on high who shines wisdom into their hearts. All else is vanity and if doubting becomes your master you end up like a Picasso.
Do you ever feel like a Picasso?
What the post-constitutional America is teaching us via its institutions and entertainment outlets, is that one ought to be envious, rather than ambitious. Ambition has became a dirty word, along with profit. Thus, we have these Occupy Wall Street people covered in the fungus of envy, wanting take and destroy the fruits of ambition and profit because they’ve been brainwashed to assume ambition is ALWAYS misused just because there are poor people in the world, a marxist motivation 101, but we don’t know, because we are politically stupid and ignorant people, pass the popcorn. Thus, we have bought into this man with a symbol in ’08 and his movement, blind to the origins of his philosophy, we will march with acquired momentum to the death of liberty if we don’t wake up.
In my world everyone is a pony, and they all eat rainbows, and poop butterflies. Then I woke up and became a conservative.