There once was a man that lived in a shoe. His forbearer was Bob Southey. A man of keen intellectual prowess who birthed three little bears. A laureate of sorts, whose appointment didn't smack of a little harmless cronyism. Like their Endower, his disciples had the fortuitous ability to prognosticate all that will happen if this or that comes to pass. One fine changing day, old Bob, long dead, had a vision that the sky was falling. So his ghost whispered this image into the ear of a fellow traveler on a pondly voyage. Mr. Beck being influenced by such skyey notions of the supernatural thought he should share this tale -that the sky was falling- and make a few coins from the soon to come doom that was upon us.
So being the completely and utterly righteous man that he is -as all men are- and being the disciple of the intellectual giant Mr. Southey, (their hero) Mr. Beck told his tales of the woe and doom to come. His audience being captivated by such Revelations and with fond remembrances of what once was and what should be, listened heartily with their ditto-factor cups of Kool-aid and reasoned that a vision so magnificent must be true. And if they, like he, just wished hard enough, this vision would come true as wishes and prayers often do with a sprinkle of pixie dust. Then it would come to pass and the sky would in fact fall. Everyone would 'die sooner' as if death is the ultimate enemy rather than the final arbiter.
He is the noble warrior who longs for such a war in the crucible of his shoe where his mental ejaculations can be carefully deciphered, from the wire. As his shoe grows higher and higher on it's golden glass foundations his prophecies seem to be becoming more and more true, the sky does appear to be falling, to him and his followers. But the vaulted sky has not lost it's wonder to the pedestrian sages who know that all things that go up are susceptible to more earthy influences. Where the people who inhabit the lowlands have but brick and mortar to build with and the tally of the butcher's bill is never far from the mind. Houses which do not fall from a breath of truth but dwell in the reality of middle earth where pixie dust and fairy tales are in short supply and Neverland is just an illusion.
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