Dazed & Confused
Discombobulated
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I would like to explore the underpinnings of this, our venerable and impregnable, city of God. It has come to my attention that the youth of our kingdom have been disconnected from discombobulation. A new chaotic, catastrophic form of rationale is taking root. Elders are left to question the very logic by which their descendants are existing. By what metrics do they discern reality? Discombobulation, it would seem, is left only to a dying generation — the children of The Fall.
As we embark on the first of these talks, let us begin with an acknowledgement of the existence of youth who have accepted discombobulation. Yes, among the rational, the logical, there is a breed that stands ostracized. What delirium they must have to endure. We are forced, if only by duty, to dig pits and have a firing squad at the ready. We cannot allow the few, even if of our kind, to inhibit the gentle flux within the zeitgeist. Change was the only promise made by our forefathers and change must be indulged despite it being to our detriment.
My son is one of these — those elevated and ordained by the touch of discombobulation. It has been said that a son desires nothing more than to follow in the footsteps of his father. I say nay. If society is an organism, then the son that mimics the father is a cancer. Discombobulation served our forefathers, it has served us but today the air sings a different song. Discombobulation must be rejected. The cancer must be extracted.
Forty days from now, a demonstration is set to take place. Youth from all corners of the kingdom are to remain silent and immobilized. Intelligence has revealed that the demonstration is set to last for twenty-four hours with the purpose of halting all economic and military procedures. Within those twenty-four hours we are expected to lose access to vital necessities such as nourishment and defense. Within those twenty-four hours we are open to attacks from neighbors who still hold discombobulation as the highest of ideals.
The words we will not negotiate with terrorists rings in my heart. These are, after all, the words spoken with great fervor by my own grandfather during The Fall. You all recall the words. How can you not? They are etched onto the entrance of these very halls. Yet today discombobulation expects us to look at our youth as those same terrorists. STAND FIRM! Stand firm and fight against reverting to your native tongue. To do otherwise would be to give credence to the cancer.
Men and women of the courts. I ask you today to forsake discombobulation. Your human tendencies will urge you to reject my proposal. Of course you do. Discombobulation is what we have come to believe makes us who we are. Take a moment to consider this — of what benefit is your humanity if, by the desires of the few, we are forced to cast asunder future generations? Your humanity is the crux of the problem. It was, indeed, humanity that brought forth The Fall. To turn away from discombobulation is to be more than human. To be that which our forefathers dreamed of.
As a proponent of this radical endeavour, I have taken the first step. At the end of today’s talks — the first of many — you are expected not to leave these halls as you came in but to follow the Borge Labyrinth to its very end. There you will find, on a pike, an extracted cancer. I assure you that this was no easy fit. My humanity, if it was ever in question, has been exterminated. I stand before you the fruition of that once bewildered dream. This is not a man. This is a force for change.
Do not be mistaken. Within me is a desire to hold onto the ideals of discombobulation. A vortex of lament at the thought of forfeiting a believed birthright. That desire must be purged. If not by will, then by law.
That demonstration is not to take place. IT MUST NOT. Our youth are not the enemy. The enemy is beyond the walls. The enemy is within you, within me. It must be uprooted and all remnants cast in the fires.
I see grey hairs in the court. Do you have the days preceding The Fall painted in your mind? Unfortunately, the horrors remain fresh in my memory, the scars eternally present upon my flesh. Humanity, my compatriots, brought forth tyranny. Humanity unleashed from its darkest crevices the horrors of conformity.
Yet hope lingers. What shall we do with it? The one aspect that is human yet profoundly transcendental. Oh what a wonder — that you and I can conceive of tomorrow in the mind’s eye. Undoubtedly, I hope. Unrepentantly, I hope. And on the coattails of hope is fear. Another very elementally human trope. It is this same fear that will have us cling onto discombobulation for history has offered this one assertion; discombobulation is salvation. And we have known nothing else. Nothing else.
I assert to you, my brothers and sisters, that the paramount virtue is progress. Progress is what our forefathers wanted for us. Progress is what they fought for, what they died for and it is our humanity that fears, mocks, fights against progress. Change is unnerving. I do understand but as leaders of this kingdom we are forced, demanded, commanded by a higher power to disregard emotion, to omit fear and make choices that will not only serve our children but descendants we will never meet.
Discombobulation must die. It is not our salvation for your time, my time, is coming to an end. Under what trees will our great grandchildren find shade? Discombobulation is dying. Are we to leave them remnants of a once blooming kingdom? Discombobulation is dead. Is this kingdom to be swallowed up by adversarial forces?
No. I say no. We bend the knee to the dictums of a superior power — the power of change — or are devoured by the unmerciful torrents of civil war. We must choose. Discombobulation or the blood of our youth.
Discombobulation or the blood of our youth.