It's autumn, quite chilly, about 1:00 AM.

On the left, there's a low stone wall stretching into the dark. That's where we position ourselves to watch what you need to know.

To the right is a thick forest of trees with dead leaves waiting to drop.

In a clearing is a big bonfire, around which dances the coven of madness and evil. 

You lean, in your jeans and leather jacket, and light a cigarette. I perch, in my ancient silk robes, and kick my cowboy boots against the stone wall.

Cigarette smoke rushes from your mouth and merges with your frosty breath. You smell so good that I take up smoking again.

Now watch.

See how the sweat beads up on their naked bodies? That's because they've covered themselves with oil. See the bucket of oil into which they repeatedly dip? Naked, oily bodies, jerking around an open fire. Burns are inevitable, aren't they?

Not one of them is under 30. Not one is over 50. Oh, they lie about it, but the firelight doesn't lie. 

They're trying to merge. They have no individual identity. They truly believe they speak with one voice. They consider themselves interchangeable. 

Hehehe, no, too many Borg episodes of Star Trek didn't cause that. 

The invisible things they throw on the fire aren't really invisible. Those are the sacrifices they make to the gods of youth and money.

Blow smoke around the outer edges of the ring of dancers. You'll see the sacrifices, huddled, waiting their turns.

Don't be so horrified! Skeletal children in rags squat, shivering in the dirt, every day, all over the world. Blow smoke on them. Sprinkle fairy dust on them. Drop nets over them. Trip over them. They're everywhere. They're not truly invisible; they're simply obedient.

Well, yes, we'd all like to help them. 

Here's a plan: You wander the world, grabbing all the children you can, and teach them not to be obedient, compliant, submissive, non-thinking, cogs in a Borg hive.

These children? No. They're willing sacrifices.

May 26, 2006