In feral times, brains tear
into propaganda in rabid
frenzy. Brains fill with rage,
which displaces sense
and empathy. Minds want
to hunt mythic stock prey--
who turn out to be people
just like them. Afterwards.
In feral times, mirages
cloud minds, blind them
to facts and finding ways.
Mobs over-run common
ground because cults
are total. The wicked
trick the deranged to gain
so little--like pickled
ideology or weary greed.
In feral times, reasoners
don't know what to do.
They wonder if they
should seek a better place
to live. They tend to stay
to fulfill duties. Once
the Grand Wreckers rise
to unbound power,
a cycle ensues. It
may end in a shabby
bunker but too late.
The reasoners know
because they've read
and know what to read.
hans ostrom 2022
