July 4 by 4

Even the 4th of July seems less right... arbitrary.  Out of place in time maybe, do you think? Friday parades... wha? It's like tomorrow we won't know how Thanksgiving got here. And when was Easter?

My yard for instance, looks like late summerfall, dead leaves scattered all over from intense heat and bludgeoning angry electrical storms. I mow stuff but it sure ain't grass. All bugs are just variants of beetles, blimpsized to Goth fingernail floorboard. Birds sound songs but are not seen.

Time as we knew it is ebbing. Falling away.

It seems filled with cotton that drifts the day to day, a scarecrow where once navigated proud Captain under sail. It is no longer a constant.

And they know it. Leaking back into itself like some Fukushima hushed up toxic crime where the plunderers take every dime and Godzilla gets the second coming instead.

Everything is deadlive. Zombie Genesis. Progress, the lie, is now revealed. This is why the Light must dwell within you now more than ever before.

You must make it yours, upon this Independence Day-time dawn.

God hits snooze alot but he'll dart up, my Paul Reveres. Event approaches. Or into it we fall, I'm still not sure which.

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