The nasal drone of the Pentagon spokeshill fills the air, soothing, reassuring, denying, euphemizing the vile, beautifying the ugly, making of death an abstraction, Orwellian in its ability to create truths out of falsehoods.
It’s a voice monotonous in its movement, a dulling cadence that moves neither too quickly nor too slowly as it casually drops labels and clichés, trying to pass jargon off as depth, concealing its dehumanizing void behind a shield of faux-positive delivery, painting uncertainty as certainty, hinting at truth in words that conceal the linguistic nihilism that is at its core, pumping itself up on a word steam of its own self importance, a smokescreen spinning itself out of the stale cobwebs of fantasy. It is the voice of the serene barbarity of the civilized.
And it drones on and on and on and on until we drop into a hypnotic trance, and all of our doubts and misgivings are put to rest, as once again God is in His heaven and we can continue to sleep the sleep of the dead.
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5 comments:
Wow!
I thought Orwell was speaking again.
Thanks so much for your fine prose that elucidates our continuing plight.
S
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