On the Day of Chocolate Truth

On the day of chocolate truth, waters will stir, threads will be broken, roots will be dislodged from the ground, and people will be done with the weary, repetitive task of trying to convince those who lead the country to act with rectitude and honor; love will meet the winds of revolution, barricades will go up, tires will be set on fire, and the Federal Reserve bank of New York will be looted and plundered;

On the day of chocolate truth, the Internet will be shut down, the kill switch will be thrown; tanks will be in the streets, morgues will fill, and rats will creep into underground holes; stocks will crash and fortunes will be lost overnight; one world will explode and another will take its place;

On the day of chocolate truth, dues will be paid and the bankers will pack their bags and scramble off to Israel but their planes will be hit by Hezbollah rockets as they approach for landing; public utility workers will join the revolution and power will be cut to all major edifices of government, including the White House, as police and Blackwater mercenaries open fire at the strikers;

     It is December 24, 1913.
    Next to the china coffee cup
    Rests a calabash of cream
    As Woodrow Wilson
    Consumes a bowl of rabbit
    Stew, smacking his lips
    In relish, one day after
    Blithely selling humanity out
    The jackals,
    The light from the prisms
    Of the chandelier casting
    A pattern of shadows over the
    Tightened skin of his face, each tiny
    Shadow the shape of Christ hanging
    On the cross. “You can’t
    Respond to evil with love
    And expect it to respond
    In kind. You can respond to
    Ignorance with love, and hope and
    Believe that eventually ignorance
    Will come around and see the light,
    But I’m not sure that’s possible with
    Evil, for evil is a completely alien force
    From ignorance. It preys on it, but it is
    Alien from it,” he sighed in resignation as
    He finished the rabbit stew, wiping his
    Mouth with his napkin, as outside
    The White House the winter sunset
    Tapered off into dusk.

On the day of chocolate truth, pandemonium will strike, nuclear missiles will be launched, and 50 million will die initially; a Marine regiment led by an officer still loyal to America will place the president, congress, and supreme court under arrest; a second regiment will shut down CNN, the New York Times, and the Washington Post; but the wind will blow in blitzkrieg fashion; the sun will burn downward, and the Marine commander will be arrested and shot by the Blackwater mercenaries as the media once more resume spreading the epidemic of mental leprosy they created;

On the day of chocolate truth, darkness will rise like light, those without ears to hear or eyes to see will rejoice, and the Count of Monsanto, wearing a necklace of shrunken human heads, will go riding the Richard Perle Prince of Darkness Night Train through the slums and jungles picking up passengers;

On the day of chocolate truth, rubber bullets will be fired, chemical asphyxiants will be sprayed, rocks and stones will be hurled as sports stadiums are turned into jails; the mother of a two-year-old will scream, and the shadow of carrion eaters will fall across the ground;

    “That’s all we need, is just
    To get to heaven,” thought Lyndon
    Johnson, sitting at his desk in the Oval
    Office, blandly studying the casualty figures: 34 dead, 
    174 wounded. It is June 9, 1967. 
    “Jack Kennedy knew what
    Dying sailors look like. Pity I never
    Saw one.” The hell of it was,
    Those damn bastards on the Saratoga
    Had had to be recalled twice. Twice! He wished that

    For just one day hypocrisy would disappear
    From the mouths of U.S. officials. “We could
    Declare it a national holiday,” he thought.
    “Rusk and the rest of those eastern liberal
    Horses’ petutes will simply have to learn: we don’t
    Embarrass an ally. At least not this one.
    It takes a lot of money to buy off every
    Politician in this damn town, and they’ve
    Got it.” The intercom on his desk buzzed.
    “She’s here,” said his secretary. He straightened.
    "Send her in.”

    “You made it!” He stood, smiling.
    “Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t?” Though she was Jewish, 
    She was like Rio de Janeiro on a bender, a wild and exotic 
    Beauty—shutting the door now and approaching him confidently. 
    In their private moments an untamable thirst conducted her 
    Movements, her hand, like a claw, ever reaching for his sex organ;
    This was the woman he had sacrificed 34 Americans for.
    Was she worth it? He took her in his
    Arms with a fierce urgency, “That’s all we need, 
    Is just to get to heaven,” he whispered.

On the day of chocolate truth, an earthquake will hit, buildings will shake, and a tsunami will strike; nothing will be left to lose, and when a lark sings a love song he will do so with avid desire; insurrection will spread through cities like a wildfire caught up in the throes of evolutionary energy; neighborhood checkpoints will go up; the viper pit of congress will begin to empty, a car will make a mad dash for Dulles Airport but will be stopped at one of the checkpoints and its occupants hauled out;

On the day of chocolate truth, we will learn that death is not proud, that there is nothing to fear but fear itself, that learning never went on holiday, and that we know the choices that must be made; smoke will billow, gunfire will be heard, and I will take your hand and we will stand in an ocean of humanity filling a six-lane city boulevard stretching for miles in either direction; people, no longer driven by fear, will free themselves like birds from a net;

On the day of chocolate truth, Walmart stores will board their windows, truckers will blockade highways, supply chains will break apart, and angel patriots will scurry through American towns, parks, and neighborhoods spreading the word; a human cat that dances will go into motion: the American people will realize 9/11 was a false flag attack carried out by Israel, the treasury will be drained, there will be no money left to run government, retribution will be sought, innocent blood will be spilled, and the Blackwater mercenaries will slink off into the shadows;

    “Between the Twin Towers and My Pet Goat 
    That was one helluva Day last fall…Boom!”
    W giggled as he laid his red dress out on
    The bed, anticipating the gamecock’s arrival.
    It was April 18, 2002.
    “Of course, in a weird way, the world owes the
    Jews a debt of gratitude,” he thought. America was 
    Far too powerful to be destroyed from without; it could only 
    Be defeated from within. Now it would die—although it
    Would be a lingering, protracted death—and he was glad. W hated 

    America and everything it had ever stood for. Shoo-eee!
    Back as kids growing up in Midland, Texas, when he and old 
    Terry used to put firecrackers in the frogs and light’em—
    He had always imagined each frog was a state:
    Texas…pop!...Missouri…pop!...New York…pop! 
    Hooo-weee damn! What fun it had been! America—it was 
    A country that deserved to die, with a people too stupid
    To walk and chew gum. 7:15. When the Zionist gamecock 
    Got here, W would stand before him, bow, and kiss
    His ring—it was their little private game they played.

    Let’s see…what was it he and the gamecock were supposed 
    To discuss tonight? W strapped his brassiere on. Oh yeah, they
    Had squashed some burg called Jenin. 60 dead. Nasty business,
    But of course those terrorists deserved it. Oh right yeah, and the
    Church of the Nativity thing too. Ding-dong the witch is dead. He
    Pulled his panty hose over his hips, slipped his dress on, and stepped
    Into his high heels just as the door wooshed open, “Mr. President!”
    In walked the gamecock, smiling broadly—“or should I say 
    Madam President!” W smiled daintily and bowed: “I shall
    Never let them forget that you’re a man of peace.”

On the day of chocolate truth, sun, moon, lightning, and stars will witness a new age; the bridges of time will collapse, continental shelves will crumble, and the last president of the U.S. will be swallowed by a riptide; Wall Street will be paved under, a hungry child will eat, and a Goldman Sachs banker will be spotted on a street corner holding a sign reading “Pencils For Sale”;

On the day of chocolate truth, the term “Orwellian” will begin to fade from the English lexicon as words like “war” and “peace” and “humanitarian” are reinvested of their original meanings; deceit and dishonesty will again be placed in intellectual bondage; debts will be canceled, truth will taste sweet and love will possess the aroma of bliss; we will no longer be concerned from morning to evening and from evening to morning about how we will live; romance will bloom, jasmine flowers will dance, lovers will fall in love with serene patience and passion, self-connected as hearts open, and the light will once again shine in humanity’s dead eyes;

On the day of chocolate truth, the inner treasure of all reality will no longer wither and decay; white chocolate, milk chocolate, and dark chocolate will reconcile with each other, perceiving the motives of those who deliberately sought to sow enmity among them; you and I will find a piece of land, grow our own food, raise our children; and our children will learn the lessons, they will not be brainwashed, deceived, or lied to; they will walk uprightly and feast on truth—the lessons of life, the lessons of fineness.

     And so with those differences I realized what one invariably finds—
     Palaces of oligarchs losing their glitter in due course of time,
     And on that day, I and self-assured Truth, down a beckoning sandy trail,
     Past an ancient menhir, deserted quay, and an old driftwood rail,
     Found ourselves walking as a lonely grebe modulated its cry
     Upon the wind, as through the couch grass we stepped, and by
     This time I had remembered who he was—the same Truth come again,
     The one who as a young boy I had met way back when.
     We were a mile or so from town—I could hear the roaring of the sea;
     Off in the distance a gong sounded, and into the heart of me
     Poured the sun, waxing great, from its palaestra in the sky,
     But it was an inner sun, renewed, as Truth turned to me by and by,
     And he recognized me too as that same boy from way back when,
     For he favored me with a smile as if to say, “Where have you been?”
     As the power of sunlight creates fire when focused through a glass,
     So with love we reinvigorate this green earth so vast;
     Ancient starlight breathing knowledge to the elders and the youth,
     While tall oaks grow, lift their shackles, on the day of chocolate truth.