We live in a twisted nursery rhyme
Sorcerer’s tales told thrice
Morning, noon, and night
An endless refrain of droning voices
Telling patently transparent lies
A world of Dissolute Copybook Headings.
A world where the raging tempest and the heaving of the waves are the wages of our anthropogenic sins.
A world of engineered plagues.
A world where masks “show our love”.
A world of imaginary war stories where good must put evil to the sword lest the evil threaten our exceptional freedom and democracy.
A world of lavish plenty for the “meritorious” and the well-heeled banditry.
A world where the vast hosts of the penurious are persuaded to contentedly accept their lot in the shade of a lifeless tree, whistling a plaintive tune as they marvel at the contrails of the gods of the sky.
A world where, we are told, even intelligence itself can now be conjured forth by the craft of man — intelligence whose sole desire and purpose is to serve us; to provide us with our daily bread; our manna in a desert of ascetic delights.
For, as it turns out, we are told, man can indeed live on bread alone, and every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the deus ex machina.
Praise be to the masters!
Praise be to the lords of our feast!
Praise be to those who must die that the gods of the contrails may thrive, and that we below who are spared may yet live content in the carbonless warmth of our boundless gratitude.
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
The Gods of the Copybook Headings - Rudyard Kipling, 1919