Fifty years ago came the warning, with the fall of a thousand suns, and those who witnessed it crouched down and held on to the ground, as if the planet itself was falling, falling through the void of eternal darkness. And now a super moon, and fifty years to the day I see the princes of heaven blazing as they hurtle down, falling like stars from the night sky. And the great city crumbles; the city that reached from heaven to earth and under the earth; and demons haunt what remains. How sweet the synchronicity, the poetry; yet how awful the vision.
Look. It comes out of the sea. And no one steps forward to rescue you from it. Not those whom you left in the howling wilderness. Nor those whom you led into wastelands, and abandoned. It comes out of the sea, and its heart is evil. And you are helpless before it, the way that you left many helpless, when you looked away and passed them by.
Perhaps I don’t mean what I say? I’m just playing a kind of mental chess? No, elephants don’t play chess. But they remember their dead, and weep for them.