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Published:September 2nd, 2009 21:19 EST
The Feeling of Being Watched

The Feeling of Being Watched

By Rouben Alikian

You think you know what I`m going to talk about, don`t you? The feeling of being watched is one so elusive and extraterrestrial that it truly belongs only in the realms of those who sit on lawn chairs gazing up into the stars, wondering if there is sentient life out there. But there is something else up there in that wonderful sky above our heads, something much more than fantasies and hopes.

 Just when was the last time you took the while to wonder at the beauty of rain?


Sure, some may say that it is a disgusting phenomenon that soaks their clothes and forces to walk under the rain as if it is not a pleasure in itself. Droplets condense up in the atmosphere like tiny memories of our own breath before falling right back down on us in a heavenly shower meant to remind us of the ultimate cycle of life in all its splendor. And yet, few now take the time to simply sit and watch at all the beauty surrounding us as it binds us to the world, for in our topsy, turvy world of constant troubles, death, sin and vice embalmed in sorrows, few can give that precious moment to reconnect with our firstborn mother.


 Routines, work, troubles at work, family, divorces, moral conundrums, childcare, traffic, congestions, driving, travel, overseas projects, conferences and all that mucking about in between our livelihoods has robbed our minds of the innocent purity we once had. Concrete jungles with streets greased in blood and tears have consumed the lush green of forests as we spread our own misery across the land, destroying that which gave us birth from the primordial soup of nature. We are the masters now, we, we, we, the greatest and most powerful dominant creature on this planet with the power to destroy ourselves at our fingertips while gazing upon a smoldering landscape overgrown with steel and concrete trees belching smoke from their muzzles.


 Glorious we think, horror the Earth cries. What have we become? Are we truly the masters of the universe, her princes, the ones destined to spread our chaotic hate and destruction beyond the stars so we may one day pollute the pristine beauty of the cosmos itself as well? Yes, the capitalist, the industrialist, the financial consultant, the urban planning engineer and real estate developer stand atop their mighty tank of a steel machine with hardhats on their bald, short sighted heads as if fearful that the sky might fall on them in fury at their heinous deed as they watch yet another foe to slay standing before them in the face of another forest. Plants, green, nature, environment, who cares, burn it all! Build, construct, erect, develop, profit, earn, invest, produce and expand are all the favorite words in the devil`s dictionary written by economics and its murderous advance across our planet.


 Hunger, disease, pestilence, famine, death, war, redevelopment, reinvestment, reconquest, democracy and freedom are all the weapons of unrivaled, unrequited destruction upon our kind. Rivers run red with blood and nickel dust, black with soot and death while those without a place in this new world of Golden Toilets fight for scraps of food in the noxious fumes of others` profits. The Horsemen ride across the land, golden hooved and bloody eyed as their steeds sow misery left and right.


 Death rides a horse with its black armor glittering under a scorched sky as his scythe slashes left and right, spreading agony and pain by reaping thousands at the whim of his one and only silent master, the Devil.


 War shrieks into the coming darkness and her cry is heard by millions as they follow her onto the battlefield by order of the One and only fallen archangel.


 Famine sows his seeds of infertility into the soil, destroying crops as bones grow in their stead like pale hands clutching onto each other from their graves.


 Pestilence spreads her contaminated legs apart, inviting the world`s perverted youth into her ravishing bosom for a taste of early death in the embrace of so many horrible diseases ravaging their frail bodies and vulnerable minds.


 And then He rides atop of wings of black sheathe, the Master, the One, the Destroyer of this world, the Little Horn, the Son Of Perdition, the doom of man, his end, our New World Order of a constitution writ with iron pen in the hand of one who will be named as the coming of a new dawn, the Devil`s red and golden dawn.


 He has no face. He bears no armor. No wings adorn his mighty back, for he is one of us, called upon this Earth from the hearts of everyone. A simple man born of woman as he harnesses the power of this world`s coin and uses it to raise the news of what will soon be our new existence. Dressed in borrowed robes, his red necktie flutters in the wind and a pressed jacket rounds his bulging, rotting corpse as he slides off his deathly steed and strides right into the seat of power to command the legions.


 But not legions of bloody eyed warriors. No. He has no need of them. His power is the coin of our moral realm, for he has the one thing that can bring us peace, the one thing that we are all fighting for like cruel savages.


 Money, my reader, is your price for every man has a price on even that which he never hopes to sell. Your soul has a price and the moment you give it up to the New Order`s service, your life is forfeit. You shall never see the sun again, no shining, no nature, no green forests and no bright blue rivers through the meadows. Your world will be dark and gloomy like your soul being molded in the hands of your new masters who seek to dominate all by the insurmountable, unconquerable power of economics and finance.


 Money is our Novus Ordo Seclorum, and all who serve it shall have a number of the beast on their foreheads, for no man might buy or sell till he doth bear that number.


 And the rain keeps falling, the last remaining beauty of this world while we bicker amongst ourselves down on the ground and silence ourselves forever in the memories of old. Few think that heaven and hell are here and now, but those who do, can realize just how perverted we really are. There is no cure for our insanity and even though the best medicine is another medicine, the truth is bleak. We live in heaven and yet desire hell. To Be One, Ask One.


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