The Imperium

T’was no doubt this sorry tale of the chastened young nation that pushed Butch down the path of deep hatred for the Imperium.

Having observed and analysed the Imperium at close quarters for well nigh three decades, Thierry knows; the Imperium is like a Many Armed Boxer shadowing every move they made. To wit, it brings to the party its own subtle feints and shades in the battle to capture and propagandise meaning. By which Thierry means not only the machinations of the familiar military industrial complex but also the academic and media erratic world that act through censorship and the subtler self-censorship to cover the tracks of the guilty Imperium…

But what of his own guilt ridden tracks? - Thierry smarts at sundry recollections of botched revolution.

Playing lip service to all the pitiful hopes of the cause libre. (For my mistakes I will hold up my hand, and if I erred on the side of the chickens in Nicaragua…)

Globetrotting in the name of duck freedoms. (We got it badly wrong in Angola).

Licking wounds between handjobs ( Saddam’s Scud War) until he fools himself to strike again. – As if the best lack conviction. Only he knows how foolish he has been, Butch, how abandoned to his own vices (interpret wine and cheer how you will)

And if in the long, drawn out analysis, slow defeat of the body politic… we may discern a chink of light here in the Burning Wells of Babylon. The Imperium may finally be over-reaching, if not exactly collapsing. Its failure and weakness converging in the melting pot of pure greed (for which read Halliburton, SpringerCorp and the whole sick capital bandwagon) …

Sensing his irony, Butch exhorts Thierry:

“We may not share the same values, Thierry, or even agree on the minimum standards of human decency but we know how these boys are feeling.”