At long last, we affect the Christmas mosey. I mention it only because I feel like I’m supposed to, but the bodements of early November this year quite plainly ran out of wind far prior to their customary denouement. It was at the onset of these Yuletide doldrums when, what to our wondering eyes should appear, but a horizon lousy with drones, in menacing patterns of flight and of fear. In V formations they were, so brazenly artless, so undeterred. Their running lights, how they twinkled, dumb coursers they flew, turning with a jerk and making a jerk out of you.
Anecdotally, there are some here in North Jersey that are losing their composure over the escalating drone problem. As these devices buzz over their center hall colonials, they indulge in the spreading of paranoia and conspiracy theories. It’s something for which they are well-suited and with which they have had a great deal of practice. So, you voted to demolish your country, but this shakes you up? I count it as a personal victory that I’ve been interested but not involved. It appears that in girding my loins for the coming onslaught of injustice, disinformation and outright fascism writ large, I’ve already begun my self-conditioning and acquiescence to unknown forces aligning against me. Day after day, the news is nothing more than “We got nothin’, Chuck. Back to you in the studio.”
Remember that most anything can be taken away at any moment now. This is how it’s going to be. There will be no consequences. No one will owe you anything. Nothing will ever be explained. Everything will be a deception. This is what you wanted. Masses of unmanned and potentially unregulated aircraft that are so close you could hit them with a salt gun and Governor Bedhead doesn’t know anything? Sure. Why not? I’m expecting this kind of thing to happen on the regular once the grand unraveling of America commences anyway. Whatever. Happy Birthday, Jesus.
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