The Political Opinion of Musculus

Creative Forums Creative Writing
1

O, little Hilter moustachioed Mouse,
nibbling Wexford Cheese on the floor,
you want to scurry down your hole,
out my bedroom door.

Instead, you pause and with steady eyes
turn to suss me out.
You raise your self back bolt up right
upon hind legs, smooth your whiskers,
about to utter a declaration,
clearing your throat:

‘But certainly for the present age,
which prefers the sign to the thing signified,
the copy to the original, representation to reality,
the appearance to the essence… illusion only is sacred, truth profane.
Nay, sacredness is held to be enhanced in proportion as truth decreases
and illusion increases, so that the highest degree of illusion
comes to be the highest degree of sacredness.’*

I am aghast by your razor sharp articulation.
Face almost frozen in a scream,
I want to agree, that made clear sense,
I want to ask how long you have been,
able to talk plainly of the plight
of man’s delusion?

Are you a memeber of the Situationist International?
Where is the pact between us, it does exist, doesn’t it?
Why are the masses blinkered to the realities of political secrecy?
Where have the courageous Revolutionaries been?

But you just Laugh at me at though I were a Cat,
and sprint out the door down the hall way,
quickly into some secret bunker your return,
but where I am none the wiser, and it does not matter,
it is probably safe, that I do not know, as you and me.
await the revolt of the Proletariat
and the ultimate death of the New World Order!

(I whisper
Operation Gladio,
Bologna Station,
Piazza Fontana,
Operation Paper Clip,
The Project for the New American Century,
September 11th,
7/7.
Mossad,
CIA,
MI5,
MI6.
State Sponsored Terrorism,
And still I am none the wiser)

*Quote, used in the poem, by Ludwig Andreas Feuerbach, Preface to the second edition of The Essence of Christianity

‘Deception is a state of mind and the mind of the State’- James Jesus Angleton, Head of CIA Counter Intelligence 1954 - 1974.

:astonished: :astonished: :astonished:

2

The hall of mirrors… Do you think the mouse really knows where he is going? Isn’t one hole in the wall as good as any other? Is he the vector of paranoia as his brothers were of the plague? And what is a mouse that we should trust his utterances?

3

The Truth of Musculus claims are open to debate as ever, but the real meat of the ‘accusation’ implied by Musculus and ‘concluded’ by ‘yours truly’ is in the listing of several historical operations, which set a historical precedent for State Sponsored and Manipulated Terrorism.

The Truth of the Mouse is, sadly, merely the surface at best.

But, one could always google some of the ‘Operations’ and words, and Investigate for themselves…failing that I appears that only the most humble of rodents, is interested in the legacy of international espionage, and it’s effect on the present state of political upheaval.

The Truth of utterance is at best, in Evidence and Fact, and a the very least, in Connecting dots of Corruption.

Read on!

4

Colin, your post reminded me of this poem:

Diary of the Church Mouse

Here among long-discarded cassocks,
Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks,
Here where the Vicar never looks
I nibble through old service books.
Lean and alone I spend my days
Behind this Church of England baize.

I share my dark forgotten room
With two oil-lamps and half a broom.
The cleaner never bothers me,
So here I eat my frugal tea.
My bread is sawdust mixed with straw;
My jam is polish for the floor.

Christmas and Easter may be feasts
For congregations and for priests,
And so may Whitsun. All the same,
They do not fill my meagre frame.

For me the only feast at all
Is Autumn's Harvest Festival,
When I can satisfy my want
With ears of corn around the font.

I climb the eagle's brazen head
To burrow through a loaf of bread.
I scramble up the pulpit stair
And gnaw the marrows hanging there.
It is enjoyable to taste
These items ere they go to waste,

But how annoying when one finds
That other mice with pagan minds
Come into church my food to share
Who have no proper business there.
Two field mice who have no desire
To be baptized, invade the choir.

A large and most unfriendly rat
Comes in to see what we are at.
He says he thinks there is no God
And yet he comes...it's rather odd.
This year he stole a sheaf of wheat
(It screened our special preacher's seat),
And prosperous mice from fields away
Come in to hear the organ play,
And under cover of its notes
Ate through the altar's sheaf of oats.

A Low Church mouse, who thinks that I
Am too papistical, and High,
Yet somehow doesn’t think it wrong
To munch through Harvest Evensong,
While I, who starve the whole year through,
Must share my food with rodents who
Except at this time of the year
Not once inside the church appear.

Within the human world I know
Such goings-on could not be so,
For human beings only do
What their religion tells them to.
They read the Bible every day
And always, night and morning, pray,
And just like me, the good church mouse,
Worship each week in God's own house,
But all the same it's strange to me
How very full the church can be
With people I don't see at all
Except at Harvest Festival.

[size=85] by Sir John Betjeman [/size]

5

Well, I’m glad it reminded you of a great poet, sadly, I wish you hadn’t put such a Great poet in reponse, to shame my mediocre attempt at poetry.

Ah, well, I can live with the shame.