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The Great Wake 3: Thaw Of Truth


This abuse of germs, the story of our time.  Germs of truth twisted into unrecognizable piles of junk, sent to junkyards of greasers, recycled and abused again.  Guts must return, there's truth in guts--that hunch, that nag, that thing.  Feel the truth, the way you feel pain.  Smell the truth, the way you smell bullshit.


Called einfrieren (freeze) by the old German propagandists of the 1930's, the people are fed only the hot mush meal, good and tasty.  The cold truth is left frozen, but it will thaw in the sun, it will spoil and begin to stink.  There's only so much freezer space in town, and freezer burn is real.  The summer will be hot, the party is definitely on, a festive wake before the burial, with nostalgia and laughs and drinks and stories.  Leave the grieving to a future day.

Lifted my eyes and saw another sunrise, it was similar to one seen long ago.  Red and cold, going the other way, elecric blue sky taking over, the thaw of truth underway.  It ends in a bunker, or a basement, surrounded by prissy tyrants and criminals.  Without windows, without radio, without lights.  Whimpering like wimps.

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