Tangled Grub. aka Masters of the Universe. The Kingdom and the Power but not the Glory. (Again, For ZBSH. Gone but by no means forgotten)
Long time no rant… Here’s Kabbalist harangue, then.
Driven by the primaeval hungers of Malkhut they have stormed Yesod and there they have built their petrified fastness and constructed their constantly changing but never evolving personae. Snug, smug, compliant, self-sanctioned, fashionable, safe and impenetrable, there they defend their impeccable splendid isolation tooth and claw. Wrapped in the robes of self-willed blindness there they breed and brood. Nothing comes in and nothing but their waste matter ever comes out of that meretricious coop. The flimsiest, most nebulous, tiny thought -let alone a flash glimpse- of Tiferet would fill their polymer-clad brains (or what passes for brains) with terror. So they eat and drink and pontificate their vapid lies and evangelize their fatuous Disneyotic fantasies and look down in scorn and anger (and fear) at anything that might dare hint at a higher something-or-other.
They are the almighty master puppeteers and their very mighty meat puppets; and the merely powerful but still on the alrightnik side of the hierarchy; and the just-about-powerful, desperately scuffling up the fragile, fickle ladder. And the slaves-in-all-but-name, half crazed with their thirst for power and their fear of impotence, ever-willing to do the meat puppets’ bidding in case it brings them even a tiny step up the greasy pole; and the wretched slaves who sell their grandmothers and, often, their own grandchildren, for just a shred of reflected clout.
They are the obscenely rich and the very rich and the simply wealthy and the well off and the nicely comfortable and the not-so-comfortable but determinately aspirational. They are both the lost sheep and the good shepherds. The cattle and the drovers. They are the salt of the Earth and they shall inherit it … until they blow it up to smithereens or they poison it with aerosolized hot air and crushing misery.
Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? It is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.
Matthew 5:13 Meanwhile, back at the reality ranch, the poor wee grub is left wondering what the fuck all this shit has to do with her and her kin and her friends and her neighbours. My heart aches for you, little one.