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Show Acting Alone Page 388 supererogating midnight call (can't wait to report in until morning) to let the Elder know that the last of the Companions had been rounded up in the hills and accounted for. Thank you. Goodbye. Soft, empty white sound. Accounted for. Elder Cicerone sat up and bowed his head now, and said a silent prayer of - - of what? Thanksgiving? Penance? He fought the residual coldness from the good/bad news he'd just heard, and he tried to use this moment of contemplation and quietude to coax himself from sadness' edge by saying out loud, and repeating again, like a litany from his former church, the words, It won't be long now. Yes, just one more foul, loud, powerful utterance from the secular humanist voices of societal decay, just one more "I am the Walrus" or Clockwork Orange would be all it would take in these times of'economic collapse and global insecurity. Christianity, finally, once and for all, in the throes of that Nietschean disgust that propels all great action, would put its beautiful, mighty foot down en masse, would stamp out this long-lived Weimar-style permissiveness and would regain the hold it once had on the populace's collective imagination when Western Civilization was great. The whole intellectual left, the self-styled intelligentsia, is crumbling in on itself now, anyway, pitifully wailing for someone to fetch it just one little push to bring it crinkling down under its own weight like a dollhouse made of its own yellow newsprint. The Ed Asners, Gore Vidals, Dick Cavetts, Leonard Bernsteins, Bill Moyerses, Ted Kennedies would all be smothered under their own pontificating verbiage and the country would be left to breathe freely out from under their subverted influence. |
