Small Words to Giants

“By the time you receive this message it shall be too late, there is

no tomorrow, there is no escape, only death, though I am cowardly like

the trembling hand behind this authorship. There exist roots of

conspiracy, a secret service sheltered within the innermost workings

of concealment. An army of shadows, its efforts estrange fathers from

sons for the lion’s share of high stakes. What safeguards abound its

disguise that play tricks on the naked eye, its riddle which confuses

the thinking mind? In what direction do the must the realm of its

mystery stow the answer? This answer is a path of conspiratorial

proceedings, few dare go alone. The path, my sleepwalking feet, are

guided by voices in my head which are not my very own. These voices of

warning stalk me like predator do prey in pursuit.

The cover of darkness nor the light of day reveal not its many

trappings and quicksand. Only violent disappointment await the company

of footsteps whom trespass it’s hidden hills in search of the required

pieces of puzzles lost amongst the scattered whereabouts of encrypted

letters, numbers, and symbols. There exist roots of conspiracy bonded

by the eternal handshake of mutual collaborative equals. The powers

that be and the forces which are teamsters of a sacred closeness. The

fog of obscurity shrouds the wrinkles of their hooded robes. The

hidden hand of clandestine masterminds safe keep secrets of a silent

circle which walk among us, a select few amongst the collective body

of common men.

Though the crystal ball reveal the identity of their ghostly

silhouette, secrets of the written word are the ashes of burning

books. By the time you receive this message silent circles of the

whispered word shall reduce this world to shadows. The tongue is life

or death so beware the presence of strangers you stand alongside.

Sleep with one eye open, for trouble knocks when there is lighting in

the clouds where none was before. Quiet storms follow the meandering

path of running rivers.

Fear guides my trembling hand. My trembling hand is overtaken by a

presence greater than oneself. For reasons more than one, do the

guardian watchfulness speak in a cautionary voice of warning, letter

by letter, word for word? My worst fears are confirmed under the

dimness of flickering candle light, I am seated before the presence of

the spirit board. My vision begins to fail me though my ear are my

eyes. My eyes are now blind, yet, I see the coming of thrones, the

specter of vultures circling above, and the checkmate of kings.

Somewhere beyond the badlands exist an enemy threat of one thousand

faces. The white of their evil eye appear in the dark like stars do

the night sky. Heed, the enemy of all enemies is evil which appear

not as evil, a foe with the friendliest face. His motives are hidden

in plain sight. His beautiful lies make truth ugly. He comforts all

embraced with his right hand, from the blind side come betrayal,

guided by his left hand”.

“I am Danroy in the year of eighteen zero one”.

At about start of the year 1801, the Republic of Providence is

actualized. “We convene this midnight hour as full commencement begins

this maiden march towards a future as our ambitions envision it”

speaks Theo of the Agrarian syndicate of governors. “The Agrarian

class affords arable land for foodstuffs and silver, which is

plentiful. Oil is abundant and trade among states overseen by Agrarian

governors and tax collectors, yields added wealth as we experience a

fattening of coffers” he continues. “Immense power shall be measured

by the efforts of the class Agrarians above the naysaying chorus of

our lesser have-nots, these young industrialist true believers’. Our

sponsors within the hyper structure of sovereign state and federal

overrule, as well as, the High Courts of Choir allow parties of the

Agrarians to sanction this radical railroad expansionist charge” he

strongly asserts. “The soil of our privatized land shall become the

killing fields where the sword shall set a new standard and make legend of common men and the hammer of Gods be a gavel which make him a judge of courts” Theo exclaims forcefully slamming his fist upon the podium. The audience before him erupts in celebratory cheer.