Homage to Visitors from Ursa Minor

Homage to Visitors from Ursa Minor Nothing much has changed; the Biblical-like characters are still bent over in their counting houses counting their treasures of Gold, Silver and Diamonds and the savage usury still keeps the peasants in a state of perpetual servitude and debt. It is the same peasants who wave flags and scream at complete strangers who wear colourful uniforms, bold coloured sashes and diamond tiaras that could to all intents and purposes have just arrived from the Constellation of Ursa Minor. Ask them why they do this and their replies would beggar belief. Maybe they really believe they are related to these strange people. Personally I sometimes wonder if these strangers in colourful uniforms are real people at all or just giant holograms that are projected on the balconies of their royal palaces to excite the people when times are bad. Maybe I am naturally afflicted with pessimism and being an unbeliever is just a cross I have to bear. Little surprises me anymore. So let us cushion our people against reality, give them bread and circuses, Kebabs and the X Factor. While they are under sedation tell them we are taking their birth-right and homeland from them and giving their country lock, stock and barrel to whoever wants it. If they do complain tell them our culture was always sadly lacking in exciting vibrancy, they will believe anything. As an experiment what if we sexualise their young children in school, better still why don’t we order their police, for the sake of community cohesion to keep a cap on their children being raped by Middle Eastern Paedophiles? At the same time lets put in the minds of our children that same sex relationships are as normal as heterosexual relationships that will confuse them. Meanwhile the police like government sheep dogs, kettle any sheep that come on the streets to complain. Do I feel sorry for my people? Well if one puts their hand in the fire to see if it is hot, or touches the park bench that bears a notice that reads ‘wet paint’ then there is not a lot I can do to help these people. They might not lack an inquiring mind it is just their basic, common intelligence and priorities are not the same as mine. I always thought that survival instincts were the most strong. If the government figures inform me that the space of time I have lived on this earth is close to 30 years more than the time left before my people become a minority in their own country I would have serious cause to worry, and waving at visitors from Ursa Minor would be the least of my concerns.   It is strange that the Battenburg space travellers from Ursa Minor excite the emotions of my people but the loss of their country does not, why is this do you think. There can be only one answer THEY DO NOT BELIEVE IT. They need to turn the TV off and get out of the house and visit many parts of their country that are already off limits to them with a real threats of receiving bodily harm if they ignore this warning. In their naivety they could I suppose attempt to walk through those heavily enriched areas just as they would touch the park bench that reads Wet Paint. What would our young men who marched off to war in their school-boyish innocence singing Run Rabbit Run think if they could return from the dead and realise the wars they fought for had been for the Elite and the men bent over in their counting houses counting their treasures of Gold, Silver and Diamonds. Were all their deaths in vain? Our people are offering up the country that our young men and woman died for, this time without a shot being fired. The unbelievable apathy of the people is sealing our nations fate as surely as it would have been had we surrendered to the enemy.