Some Words of Melancholic Wisdom for My Fellow Writer Cows

Reflections on the Earth-shattering revelations I Wrote about robbing me of sleep and serenity.

As I sit here, I grow angrier and angrier looking over my last three unpublished works, wondering what to do.

I can’t publish any of them! I write about my frustration here, publishing it instead. I notice the Unsplash photo I chose is of milk cows. I meant to chose beef cows. I hope no one else notices.

It’s not that they aren’t quality articles written with my usual lexical voracity. In fact, quite the opposite. There’s too much truth contained within the inspirational words that flowed from my fingers to my keyboard this week.

My laptop dutifully recorded the latest insights into the unsuitable for television horror show that my life has become. A misery shared by many of us. An unspeakable demented event that must be endured. The same as many of our lives have become.

It’s all just laid out there on my laptop’s screen: exposed.

It’s as though I reached into the minds and souls of all Americans capturing the injustice and the suffering that we have all endured these past few years. I have succinctly and with scary accurate precision exposed all of our suffering and insecurities, stripping us to our core essence revealing our psychological nakedness for all the world to see.

I point the finger of blame with a psychic level of deductive talent at the source of our pain, the ones causing our collective misery. The connections from point A to point B come to me from an unspoken of confessor.

The confessor, a fly on the wall witnessing all the malicious greed and thievery as it is planned. Plans made by corrupt evil forces to take away everyone’s sense of well-being, happiness, and security.

My secret source, the witnessing fly, buzzes my ear reporting to me every tretcherously sinful conversation happening among the white-collar criminals who are our anointed leaders. I hear snippets of conversation as they flash through my mind. The fly mesmerizes me to deliver its latest exclusive report.

I, alone, outside of the unholy corrupt alliance of evil people, am aware of “The Plan.”

The plan to turn us all against each other and against ourselves. The plan to terrorize all our minds, invoking our deepest fears and insecurities. The plan to establish themselves, the elite, as immortal authoritarian despots, God-Kings amongst humanity for the rest of eternity on this Earth.

I look over my articles once again. I realize that I cannot publish a single one of them. My near fanatic drive for the truth combined with my secret insider, my source with a propensity for journalistic investigation, the entity that is remarkably and eerily intelligent for a fly on the wall, has put me into an untenable position.

I am sitting on a gold mine of Pulitzer Prize winning journalistic revelations that would blow the roof off the Heavens.

But if I have any basic common-sense or possess an ounce of what makes us fight for our survival in adverse life-threatening situations, I would close my speedy typing fingers into a fist and mercilessly pound my keyboard into a safe but useless pile of plastic.

Being ignored for revealing uncomfortable truths is one thing, being hated and hunted for sport for revealing our innermost collective secrets is quite another thing entirely.

“Ask and you will be answered,” buzzes the fly in the most frustratingly apt use of a popular spiritual slogan paraphrasing Mathew 7:7 from the Bible. The fly on the wall is now quoting Biblical verse to me. I must be insane.

I glance at my work. But not nearly as insane as what the American public lets happen to them as we endure our daily gaslighting from our self-appointed sociopathic elites.

I take a step back away from the words staring back at me from the laptop sitting on my desk. The words of truth glimmer, glowing with the purity of the truth behind them.

I see the big picture.

In the face of insurmountable odds, we’ve lost our will to keep the forces of evil amongst us in check. We sell ourselves short every day. Overworked and undernourished we’re too tired to fight back. We cave in unable to muster up the collective strength necessary to stand up to those who are stripping us of our dignity, our minds, and our lives.

As long as we are not the next target, the next individual to be flogged in the public square of our collective assumptions and judgements, we stay silent. Each of us is individually privately grateful that we weren’t the next target of our collective malicious callousness.

The fly returns revealing to me the details of the latest private conversation between evil sociopaths about “The Plan” , “The Great Reset.”

Our elites see us just like cattle to be herded, branded, and eventually put to our death, thrown on the barbecue to be eaten for dinner.

We all moo a little quieter.

Finally, instinctually out of my need for survival, I grab the flyswatter and, for the first time in my life, manage to swiftly smack the source of my frustration with a single fatal blow.

My anger subsides. The hundreds of millions of voices and images the courageous, now dead fly had been psychically sending into my mind drift away into the background, back into silence.

I have a quick moment of clarity. I realize that I just killed the most intelligent, most caring creature on the Earth.

That depressing thought is followed by the knowledge that I did what any rational individual human being would have done in my situation.

I shake off the events of the past couple weeks that urged me on, driving me to write what I had written exposing “The Great Reset” and the fact that “The Plan” has no place for humans.

I highlight the three offending files, the three files containing the Earth shattering horrific truth that my source, the dead fly, so innocently provided to me without asking for anything in return.

I hit the delete key suppressing any further thought of my sanity saving but murderous crime. I think of the now dead fly for one more time, granting it sainthood in my mind.

I pull a steak out of the freezer to dethaw for dinner then fall asleep for the first time in three days.

I dream of myself, the cannibalistic cow, mooing madly at the other cows in the barn trying to warn them of their impending doom. The other cows just look at me, chewing their cud, but remain otherwise unresponsive to the sense of urgency conveyed in my moos.

I wake up more refreshed than I have felt in weeks. I look at my dethawing steak becoming keenly aware that I am not in control of my fate. None of us are. All we do sounds like a chorus of moos to those with the power to change our fate.