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Everyone alive remembers the unsinkable Titanic, despite the fact that nobody that was there then, is still alive today.

Nobody remembers the leader of the band.

Nobody remembers the band.

Nobody remembers the music.

Nobody remembers the futile cries for help!

Will anyone remember America 100 years from now?

Everyone remembers the iceberg, the freezing waters, and the unanswered distress calls.
Nobody remembers the band.

Everyone remembers the unsinkable Titanic that struck the iceberg nobody saw until it was too late.
Nobody remembers the leader of the band.

Everyone remembers the iceberg that sank the unsinkable Titanic after it struck the iceberg nobody saw until it was too late.
Nobody remembers the futile cries for help.
Nobody remembers they drowned and their cries were drowned-out by the band.

Everyone remembers the frigid icy waters, the panic-stricken passengers and crew who perished in them, after the insinkable Titanic struck the iceberg that nobody saw until it was too late.

Nobody remembers the leader of the band that played-on, trying in vain to assuage the pain of the reality they all were about to perish, as he stood on the deck of the unsinkable Titanic, that struck the iceberg, that nobody saw until it was too late to save the panic-stricken passengers and crew, who perished in the frigid icy waters.
Nobody remembers their cries anymore!
Will anyone remember America's cries 100 years from now?

The leader of the band that nobody remembers, the band that played on and on and on until the end, nobody remembers the leader of the band as the Titanic slid into its watery grave. Nobody remembers the songs they played anymore. Nobody is still alive that heard them play.

But nobody remembers the band that played-on as it stood on the deck of the unsinkable Titanic that struck the iceberg that nobody saw until it was too late to save the panic-stricken passengers and crew who perished in the frigid icy waters, the band that nobody remembers played on and on and on until the end, as the Titanic slid into its watery grave.

Nobody remembers the band.
Nobody remembers the leader of the band.
Nobody remembers their cries for help.
Nobody who was there is still alive.
Will anyone remember the American dream, or America 100 years from now?

Nobody but nobody remembers the band that played-on as it stood on the deck of the unsinkable Titanic that struck the iceberg, that nobody saw until it was too late to save the panic-stricken passengers and crew who perished in the frigid icewaters, as the band that nobody remembers played on and on and on until the end, as the Titanic slid into its watery grave.

But nobody remembers the band!
Nobody remembers the leader of the band!
Nobody remembers the lessons of history!
Will history remember America, will it speak kindly of America 100 years from now?

Forget the band. It can't save you, anyway. Forget about the leader of the band leading the band playing that can't even save himself! You're all pretty smart. Figure it out. No, some of you aren't that smart after all.  Let me help you to the lifeboats. Let me take your attention off the band playing and help you focus on the Exit door before the Titanic slides into the abyss.

In spite of all the beautiful encouraging music, no, the band can't save anyone, least of all itself! All it can do is play and play and play! It can save no one. It can lead no one. It knows not where the lifeboats are its eyes and ears are only focused on the sheet music. It can't find them for you or for anyone else, much less for themselves. A leader of a band is only good for one thing, leading the band. And a band playing is about as useful as an used lifeboat that goes down with the ship empty. Anyone that expects the leader of the band to save them, is just as dead as anyone who doesn't have the good sense to know when to stop following the band leader, to stop listening to the band playing-on, and when it's already past time to man the lifeboats in time to save themselves.

I promised myself to keep this diary under 1,000 words and less than 10,000. I think, maybe I shall...attempt to keep it short and sweet. Nope, today's not your lucky day; it will neither be short nor sweet. But I admit I'm much better at dissertations than giving short speeches. Every safety regulation, every survival manual, and every lesson of history was written in blood. Every Article of our Constitution and the Bill of Rights was written in blood. And no one shall not get any of mine, today. No, not one drop of it.

I know I can write a volume of words with great ease-some have even dared to call me gifted my whole life; I say I'm accursed for having an analytical mind that can critiacally think, at least well enough to discern situational awareness(knowing who and where my true enemies-and friends are)but why should I waste time writing to those who would rather watch the band leader and listen to the band playing-on and on, and on, and rather stay aboard the Titanic, as it slides into its eternal watery grave? That would make me as foolish as those that are so blind they cannot read the handwriting on the wall, and once having read it, fail to decipher its significance or the translated words' true meaning.

But should I at least tell you where the lifeboats are? Shouldn't I? Some would happily like to say, resigned as they are to defeat and death, they all went down with the ship! Or should I leave you all to your own devices, to live out your fantasy that just hoping for change is as futile a gesture of defiance against all good sense as giving those who don't deserve it, a blank check drawn against your freedom? Or should I do the expedient and selfish thing (for me), and make you figure it out for yourselves? Would you listen, anyway? According to the responses I have gotten as of my latest diary, I think not.

But alas, what does a mere diarest on a blog know, anyway? What I tell you might hurt you, but what I fail to tell you may hurt you far worse. And all the pretty pictures taken by all the most experienced photographers that ever lived to put a roll of film in a camera, no blogger, and no genius who dares call himself a founder of the 2nd American Revolution of a new Golden Age, can make you see what you simply refuse to see. Certainly not see as much as the band leader, or the members of the band playing-on, would like you to see, right? Misery loves company.

Therein lies your answer to those burdensome, pesky questions that are just like the zombies, those lying, deceiving words spoken off the lips of would-be tyrants who promised us peace and prosperity, but gave us aggressive wars not fdought in self-defense and austerity, all while flying on the doves' wings of bipartisanship, compromise, retreat, and unconditional surrender, who became our masters-the lies, like zombies simply won't die! If you would rather be willingly deceived and ignorant, if you will not listen to good advice, then why should I or anyone save you?

The owner's manual is in the lifeboat. I would tell you it's kept in the glove box, or that it's still onboard the Titanic, but that would be a lie. A lifeboat doesn't even have a glove box, anymore than a leader of the band can tell you about something he never did himself: survive through the valley of the shadow of DEATH! I graduated with honors and I have far too many PHD's --not from any university built upon the sands of austerity, but from the Survival School of Hard Knocks. The survival manual is not in the band leader's hands, neither can the band playing help you find the lifeboats, if you would rather follow than lead, and remain standing on the deck listening to the band play-on, as the Titanic lists, and finally slides into the depths of the sea.

No, you must do you own homework if you are to bercome a master craftsman of your own destiny. READ the owner's manual and READ the survival manual yourself, BEFORE boarding the Titanic. I have read it myself. I have memorized it and taken its words nand lessons of history to heed. I have saved myself with it many times in the past.

I could read it for you. I could very capably and most assuredly teach you the ways and the means to save yourself, and have done so many times, all falling on deaf ears to anything else but lies and more damnable lies, except they stop the band playing on the decks of the Titanic, which is no more impossible to fathom than why the band kept playing. And the band's leader and his band is no more incapable of saving anyone, than the very ones among the perished who quite contently listened to them play-on, that is until they all drowned. But yet, I still live. Will you...live free-or die as slaves? Do you even want to be set free, to really live? I don't think all of you do.

I think that it will be said of you all, with very few exceptions, that this people not so much as lost their freedom as they won their enslavement. Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of shackles and chains which forever enslave you to the prison walls austerity built? If true, then you should stand on the rooftops rejoicing in the knowledge that in doing so, you have already sealed your fate!

There was a sign that hung over the entrance to my former Army baracks in US Army Armor School in Fort Knox Kentucky where I learned how to become an armor crewman on M-60 A-1 tanks, which read:

"PREPARATION PREVENTS PISS POOR PERFORMANCE"

How do I know about this sign?

Because, by my own brain I thought of it. By my own hands, I wrote it. And by my own hands, I hung it up there myself! I doubt it's still there, though. We had just as many people then, who would rather listen to the band leader and band playing-on, while the Titanic was struck by an iceberg and slid into the abyss of the sea, among us who rather chose to learn instead the art of survival in armor school, too!

WILL ANYONE REMEMBER AMERICA 100 YEARS FROM NOW"?

Originally posted to ImpeachKingBushII on Tue Nov 30, 2010 at 08:06 AM PST.

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