Dark times have fallen upon the republic. Bleak times when men must furtively glance back over their shoulders before speaking their minds in laconic candor. Evil times of midnight votes and treacherous mandates contrived in embittered back-chambered councils that forcibly pit men against their brethren. Yea, times that would constrain men to rigorously toil for their careless neighbor's behalf -- pallid men who dare to call the subtle wickedness of constitutional apostasy..... justice.

And all the while, these black vassals of unapologetic coercion reserve for their own the lion's portion: having waxed too vainglorious and haughty to themselves live under the edicts they smugly draw down for their hirelings. Dark days, indeed -- for the Owl of Minerva has returned empty of wisdom, and she discerns only the bleating of sheep echoing along the wires: their fawning enthusiasm assenting to whatever capriciousness the Black Rogue has reserved up his sleeve.

In milder days, before the eye of man had become firmly corrupted, it was still possible for statesmen to forge statutes that were just. But that was before the very architecture undergirding the nature of Law and the Good was mocked. And now, we spy over our ramparts those ideological enemies separated from us by a frontier as expansive as the distinction between human virtue and vice. As we twist in the breeze, the Republic lies bleeding and in its mournful wake we are cursed with overlords that are boldly content on demolishing our ancient rights and liberties in service to their own private vanities. Such men are willing to slander freedom and call it selfishness, or assent, for their advantage, to the subtle plunder of treasuries under the color of egalitarian prerogative -- crowning common brigandage with the gilded stamp of utopia.

Truly: If pain is all these villains will understand, then pain they shall surely have. Soon, the days of pilfering the storehouses will be over, and all we shall have left are the memories and wreckage of that which was once noble and beautiful -- before the covetous and foolish star-gazers cracked the world with their vain moral abstractions. Pray that what is strong and good in us will yet rise up and the Bastard Sons of America are left with only the ashes and misery that they alone have sown -- as they hurtle headlong into that maelstrom prepared for that which is even now passing away.

Glenn Fairman writes from Highland, Ca. He can be contacted at arete5000@dslextreme.com.