Anyone who wants to be a politian
is unworthy of office.
Spin Doctors hail the public enemies. Wrapped in primary splendor, they gather threads of power in shadowed spaces. Red-eyed, glutinous, hands in my pockets; they are the shapers of thought without substance-- determined to spare me the pain of autonomy.
Slogans assail. Media czars break the silence. It melts away, like pieces of a dream. A new world order opens arms of steel. Have I time to scream?
Politians appoint themselves to privelege. I hate devolved forms of life.
Well composed spin on an age old occupation, Lee. Did not the Forums of Rome have these same inadequacies? In a much simpler time? Where would we be, without the avarice of politics with its self-rendering power? Would the world be dead, now? I don't know, I could never be a politician, too much severing of the feelings that compose a basic, caring individual. Too much thinking of the all, and not the single... Too much thinking this time of morning!! :)
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Nancy