|Cowardly Lion not included|
Somewhere over the rainbow, in that final month of 2012, that dreaded date of December 21st was fast approaching… and December 22 wasn't too far behind it either.
A common belief was emerging in popular culture that some illuminated wizard was working methodically behind the scenes, pulling and tugging his conspiratorial strings toward some ultimate end on that fateful day. Yet Humanity (for the sake of this journal entry we'll call her 'Dorothy'), was blind and oblivious that she was about to embark upon such a hair-raising journey.
Oz was a strange new land. Financial storms and economic twisters had whisked Dorothy away to this enchanted frontier. Auntie Em had been nowhere to be found (probably hog-tied and ball-gagged in some survivalists storm-shelter someplace), and it soon became obvious to the oblivious that she was no longer in Kansas anymore.
They were employing midgets and dwarfs from the village lollipop guild to work the busy aisles at the local "There's no place like Home Depot", and although it may have seemed like an odd sort of hiring practice at the time, the little guys had actually been well suited for getting at those hard to reach items, situated waaaay at the back of an otherwise emptied storage shelf.
Hello Yellow Brick Road
Proof of the existence of the enigmatic Sasquatch had recently been confirmed when a good witch named Dr.Melba.S.Ketchum, from Nacagdoches TX, had found mitochondrial DNA in a lock of Bigfoot's hair (which I believe had been pressed between the pages of a 'baby book' his parents had once compiled during his infancy). Private companies like NASA were teasing us with hints that they were about to spill the cosmic jelly-beans. It turns out now that they may have found evidence of conditions which could have supported life on Mars, but anybody who knew anything about anything had known that 'The Greys' weren't even from Mars to begin with.
Football fans had contemptuously booed Justin Bieber at the 100th annual Grey Cup championship game. Why they had done this, I'm not entirely sure (perhaps beer guzzling CFL grid-iron tribals have a natural aversion to teeny-boy fem-bots who possess more money than God?!). Ironically though, precious few of them were booing their true enemy, Miss Almira Gulch, (AKA: 'The Harpo Government') who was poised to sell off the remainder of their country's metaphoric Toto straight into the clutching hands of those ubiquitous Flying Monkeys (AKA: wealthy chinese business interests).
The brainless Scarecrow of conformist youths with beards, toques and sleeve tattoos, were riding haphazardly on their trendy 'one speed' bikes, gliding blissfully through busy traffic on icy city streets… and those were just the girls! The boys though, were dressed in oversized baggy pants sporting sideways baseball caps, 'pimping their rides', and tagging the shit out of anything comprised of atoms. Our brainless straw men had confused the word 'freedom' for 'the freedom to do whatever the fuck they wanted'.
The 'collective scarecrow' was once again engaged in another late november 'battle royal'; grabbing themselves even mo' cheap shit (facilitated by their interest laden credit cards of course). This blackness of spirit was casting it's elongated winter shadow on our culture and no longer limited solely to consumer trap stunts like 'Black Friday'… something just had to give!
The heartless Tin-Man was being manipulated and confused into choosing sides. Lacking the organ necessary to reconcile the existential problems presented by dualism, he was constantly being duped into choosing between Left or Right, Coke or Pepsi, 'nicely sweet' or 'crunchy wheat'. He was being encouraged to take a stand, make a political choice, and most importantly fight for what he believed. He could only infer the limitations built into his rational mind not yet spiritually fused with the energetic emotional intelligence found within a human heart. Better he be an Atheist or a Theist, 'pro-antibiotic', or 'anti-probiotic', because for this emotionally arrested metallic tool, there could be no middle ground.
Meanwhile, underpaid labourers were jumping off platforms and killing themselves at manufacturing plants in China, usually when their hard earned pay had been forcibly withheld because of slumping company profits (or sometimes due to the psychological stresses associated with the soul-destroying function of servicing an economic leviathan producing the latest generation of flat-screens and self-phones).
Click here to read part 2
Click here to read part 2
Future CT Village 5, Nova Avalon. Year 17 P.T.E