From my observation, the herd follows the leader. And
the world follows the herd.
I have less credibility but more authority than anyone. I am
the victim.
These days, its not a Cross you will see--No, the old system has been modernized. But the victim, nevertheless, carries the weight of the whole World on his back.
The whole World cashes in insurances premiums, which the victim has paid for with the sweat from his brow, with the blood from his veins and his tears. The World gets up, puts on its clothes, hails a taxi, goes to work, sits behind a computer, eats in a cafeteria and takes home a big paycheck at the end of the month. And the victim sits at home, in rags, unemployed, black-balled, diseased and shunned, accused falsely of crime he didn't commit.
After a period of time, he notices that behind the bush outside of his window, the World is planning yet another assault on his person, another ambush, another grievous murder. The World stalks around him, banning him from stores, libraries, anywhere he wishes to go--in order to cash in the insurance premiums that pays for its jobs and provides its retirement funds and pension plans for the workers who have to find ways to provide for their families in an economy that has collapsed.
And since the victim is still alive, has still held on to his life after 150 assaults on him, yet another poging will be made to kill him.
The victim sits in rags. In the victim's eyes are visions of God and laws of science. His company is that of Angels. He wears a hardhat and goggles.
Shhh! Do not disturb him. Just think of him as a ghost, the ghost of a man who was killed 150 times.
