a poetic rant by Karl Wenclas
GIVE US your gold cards, your five-million-dollars to immigrate payments, global billionaires yearning to own five hundred-foot-long yachts in Miami or sixty-thousand square-foot mansions at Mar-a-Lago, bolstered by taxpayer-funded crypto.
GIVE US your rich, your schemers and grifters, your bitcoins and gold-plated tributes to greed and acquisitiveness.
KEEP OUT the poor but let in South African apartheid fans of spaceships and brain implants, tech bro money grabs, a once-great nation now consisting of posturing plutocrats and a bloviating orange-colored President eating carnival peanuts, front man for the circus show, busy capitulating to dictators while placing political puppets in positions of influence, issuing edicts halting any regulation of the money-making madness.
Meme coin bubbles masquerading as investments, pushed by armies of CON MEN, hucksters hawking exploding electric-powered Cybertrucks and accelerationist AI robots.
BOOK your ticket to Mars! You'll be abandoned on the red planet like thousands have been abandoned on this one, legions of homeless left on the streets consuming drugs leftover from oligarchs counting their profits.
This used to be a country-- a land of honor and integrity, a nation of citizens, united, We the People looking out for everybody, no one left behind, but the safety nets have been shredded, cut by chainsaws, gaping holes in them, the circus is closing, sideshow hustlers sneaking out the back door with all proceeds.
Those still on the high wire, or flying above it all on the ketamine adderall trapeze, LOOK OUT, or you'll come crashing back to earth, to the ground, the dirt, the raw-wound skin-bruised muck of reality, with the rest of us.
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