The Gatekeepers

They stand vigilant at the portal, ready to strike down those who would blaspheme, ready to reward those who have meekly awaited their turn at the trough. They are fed themselves by the beast, they bear the scars of their tainted fare, and for suffering, they have taken their place in the hierarchy and now sit in judgment on the lonely scribe who places no filter between his thoughts and the page.

They lurk at the edge of the public agora, huddled, sweating, neurotic, murderous, jealous, obsessed, deranged, desperate, obsequious, knowing the end is near, but unable to pull out of the gyres spinning them madly counter clockwise into greater acts of folly.

They sit at the gates of hell. If you pass through the portals your fate is sealed, you are thrown into the Hades, or to a sisyphian fate, endlessly pushing a boulder up a slope for the sin of pride - daring to think you had genius. Daring to think you had anything to say. Finally, daring to think at all.

They are our leaders, the culterati, talibanistic, subsidized throat cutters. Fear them, as you would fear fear itself. Seek their reprobation, smile at their ostracizing, welcome their opprobrium. Then turn the eye away and look at life itself, at everything it has to offer, provided you are willing to embrace it alone.