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the Morons

The morons are everywhere, they are strong, they are fast, and they are numerous. They evolved quickly to replace most of the reasonable people in the world, wiping across the face like a silent plague, and birthed from the population explosion that threw every generation off their feet from then on. The morons took place over the masses at churches, corporate headquarters, and even government positions. Boom went the baby rush, as infertile couples took turns testing the new dandied seeds to make more and more offspring possible, and their barren wombs soon filled up rooms from nursery to the grave as the space left little option for change.

These retarded semi-conscious creatures grew in number until they had forced out the gathering intelligences of the planet, and huddled under secret plans, the future was written in blood and sacrifice. The morons were easily confused as being a crossbreed between the rare normal human, and the severely impaired within a lab sterile environment. These ideas were sheer poppycock, they were far more advanced to that of the tainted drooling done by most mentally deficient slaves to modernity, and with a reduced proclivity towards that bane of society known as individuality. Drawing the unwary into themselves and their bubbles like turtles drawn in by the sea.

The leaders shifted backwards into morons as well, and no one seemed to be the wiser of the few left who were not already infested. Transforming innovation into convenience for the sake of removing debate from anything but the most rudimentary forms of entertainment. The streets poured and soared with the presence of these mutating morons as they multiplied in doubles and triples, and reproduced among themselves to further damage the global intellect of the whole environment.

No one wanted to understand or contradict what was going on anymore, and it seemed as though no one could stop the ascent of the moronic. With new laws and looping rules, they began eating into the ideas of group identity, and their particular brand of hive mind was highly contagious and overcame the ignorant with ease. However, one grew among them who would show them the error in their ways, the contradictory one. He was the oxymoron, the one that should not be, but was to be. At first, no plans were made for change as none was ever expected, but morons worldwide were soon feeling ill at ease with the steady progress that was made by his strange rhythm.

Their soured faces twisted by the power thrust festering within their brains, thinking just enough to be necessary in the rhyme, but not enough to conceive of the truth that the oxymoron was bringing along a reason. An almost psychotic trust in being absolutely right even when there is surety what is wrong is right, and that the majority rules no matter how false the pretenses. The oxymoron’s presence contradicts these ideals understood by the morons in power, and many have chosen to ignore what stares them in the face.

Vacant with the gratuitous pleasures of the merely substantial, the more manipulative morons lunge out from all corners of the globe, and begin their rule by dominating over the weaker resistance of the other morons, with their blah-blah-blah all the way into the offices of power. The nonesuch rules of fair play devoured by the scheming inconsistencies of crooked politicians with dirty hands. The blood, raw and ghastly, drips from the knives pulled from the backs of those ignorant creatures as they fight and appeal for some way out of those newly refurbished traps set for them by their own kind. The morons.

The tricks are still the same, but the faces change the game as time wears on the bones of the players. The untold outrageous turns of fortune that the oxymoron had endured would have sent rationalists screaming in panic, but the oxymoron was unflappable among the people. His instinct was always in question with the actions that every other moron preferred to create a harmonious kingdom of the inane. There was no government or creed that could take down the oxymoron’s sense of self, neither the whims of the hostile multitude nor the crass indignation of a population on the brink of annihilation, and a sense of irony that dug under the nails of gluttonous religion.

The oxymoron spends hours walking along the streets, with all eyes pointedly dragging across his soul, but fear never entered into understanding their glaring curses. There was betrayal at those hands which dripped, but the oxymoron knew nothing of their wily plans of moronic dictatorship. His was the life left behind by the others as the moronic plague invaded the rest of the world, as a child outcast by the rest for a lack of that preliminary conformity founded within the school systems at the time, but his presence was overlooked by the many then. As natural growth of maturity approached, the oxymoron found temptations into the seedy underbelly of the moronic empire, but refused them all in pursuit of what he called ‘learning’.

College was a boring affair inside this struggling system, as time and again as the oxymoron chose the path of understanding being over immediate gratification. There was nothing so vile to these morons as one who chose to follow their hearts as opposed to meeting material satisfaction in this life, and through the eyes of the ignorant, the oxymoron was to be a martyr once ejected into the real world setting. Without knowing this, the oxymoron went first to accept a position in a mediocre job at a mediocre corporate entity, and lost that job within a month due to too many thoughts of his own. The secret societies with their secret meetings fifty feet underground plotted the moron majority’s next moves, but there still was a detail overlooked, the existence of the oxymoron.

Many academic authorities discounted the oxymoron as a twisted figure of speech, but little did they know the truth in their own statements. As the oxymoron moved to the contrary of the moral moron majority, he discovered the hidden truths within oneself that none of those around him seemed capable of grasping, and which left many of the teachings of those other morons cold on the floor. As the moronic tyranny grew to drastic proportions, the people were disaffected to the problems and constrictions of this world, and grew docile in their pursuit of anything new beyond implied innovation. The oxymoron spoke more frequently, first with thoughts written inside his diary, and later with the words formulated through the further understanding of himself.

His role was predestined by the spread of this moronic contagion that weakened and enfeebled humanity, but was still at odds with those things that made for a comfortable existence. The temptations were designed to make him teeter back and forth between selfish oblivion and selfless wisdom, and as other false prophets fell into the traps laid, the oxymoron kept his distance by maintaining himself with peace. Pieces of dreams became the reality foreshadowed, and he realized that it was all going to come to an end. These strange visions were the truth hidden underneath layers of cryptic symbols and information taken out of context, parts that had been bred out of an entire culture, but these were simple in the mind’s eye of the oxymoron.

Then one day, he realized that he was being followed by someone he had never known, and spoke aloud to them in clear, precise tones. He wore his wonder on his sleeve, and it was then that the people began to understand him. The time had come to fulfill the separation from this moronic deadening that had been the world by this time, and where it began one person at a time, soon grew into dozen at once. The oxymoron’s ideas became clearer and clearer the more he spoke his real thoughts on the way things were, and many followed him to the ends of the earth to hear him speak. His voice began to move the mountains within the minds of people, and the pieces fit together inside themselves unlocking the centuries old syndrome borne into them. The corrpution of control was lifting, and people all around the oxymoron began questioning the reality that had become like quick-drying cement. No more locking things in place were the cursed intentions of the moronic masterminds, no more were there reasons to maim or kill, and finally there were no needs left unfulfilled by waning desires fueled by bitter impotence.

The wills of even the mightiest morons became castrated by the force that was triumphant, the voice of the oxymoron spoke louder than the thousands of bombs that were kept the world over to destroy the remaining percentage who still had minds of their own, and the resonant echo purified the ones who were merely blinded by the machinations of the moronic empire. The scale of the awakening few turned into the many as the implied cages of wealth and greed splayed open to reveal the truth to everyone, and the time was no more wasted by endless bureaucracies. Ages previously had no form of transformation like this, and upturned ideas from the left and the right came together in a moronic coexistence, one where stupidity was not a prerequisite anymore. Antiquated systems of inflicting ourselves on others dissolved entirely, with the presence of chaos enforcing a new system of individualistic responsibility, and no more were there moronic systems of control.

The movement moved souls into a freedom unheard of until the oxymoron’s words flowed through the universal consciousness. The skulls of the dead were respected, but no more were the old ways worshipped like deities of truth, as harbingers of doom.