Fergus and the fear in my heart

“And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared.”
- Kahlil Gibran

The gecko on my wall has crawled back into the crevice in the ceiling. My beloved grandmother, the one of the world famous paraffin and battery acid laced seven days, has stopped tormenting me over her fear of the dark.

It is now somberly silent, but for the occasional whispers of wizards and witches on low flying exercises outside my window. We need a law to provide for radar control for these chaps. No different from the fact that we need a new supreme law to perpetuate our unthinking pursuits of political hegemony.

Dear Fergus Cochrane-Dyet.

In your farewell eulogy, you decided to question as to why we are not writing laws of empathy for ourselves. We are actually a country of laws, not men.  We have a law for literally everything one can think of. Some laws just give me a mental high.

Like those on Cattle Cleansing; Control of Dogs (I think this law should stipulate that it is not cool to put those little dogs in a pouch and carry them like a baby); District Messengers; European Officers Pensions; Mental Disorders (which is a law on how much we care); Standardisation of Soap (which I thought provides that all soap should be Ebu); Traditional Beer (bwalwa, mowa, lwalwa, bucwala, bukoko or chibuku, except paraffin and battery acid laced seven days,); and, Witchcraft (Huh! "Witchcraft" includes the throwing of bones, the use of charms, being a witch doctor is actually an offence under this law).

Well, I am sure some could have been repealed or need to be repealed. But we just love laws, so most of the archaic ones are still there in those big green books, the artistic murals of Law. Yes, those books that are evidence of who deforests more.

Apologies. Somehow the grey chaps upstairs got too excited that I am again creating inkblots of thought. This is a letter to that fellow from Little Britannia. Fergus Cochrane-Dyet. He is rather a good fellow.

Sir. You, among many things, ask why we are not empathetic to the likely impact of the unsustainable debt levels on those we leave behind, those that fall before us; why we are empathetic to those who we give the responsibility to give milk to the baby, but who we actually see proudly drinking the milk instead of the baby; and, you ask what empathy NDF Bill 10 deserves.

Please sir. I think you were talking of some country on Mars. Not the country of my birth. Ours is a country that is so Christian that, we have a ministry that equips us with telescopes so that we stately peep under some chap’s skirts.

If I may remind you. On Tuesday January 5, 2016, the Great Leader assented the supreme law amendment that we gave onto ourselves at a big ceremony at the Stadium. We howled in happiness, and danced like red ants had crept up our twine patched crimplene long johns.

Today we are being told it was actually red ants that made us dance. And that Bill 10, idolising those that are drinking the baby’s milk is the feast we need. They are saying it tastes like dingi*.

The laws of empathy you seek that we write for ourselves have to be understood in the context that dingi tastes better, when it is rotting. Frog marching for Bill 10, idolising those that are drinking the baby’s milk is like savouring dingi. No exhaustion from hunting the beast. Just dig in, with a skeletal beak and sit back with a toothpick savoring the morsels.

But there is fear in my heart. The fear in my heart is that, there are many of us that are now so famished that digging our skeletal beaks into the dingi is the only way we can show our love for the Great Leader.

See. We inked our thumbs at the ballot for him, dropped the ballot paper in the box and happily walked home as that is our understanding of democracy. Not the laws of empathy you are agitating us to write.

Shh! Please read this letter using a broken mirror. Rather confusing times. Really wonder as to who the red ants crept up on. Me. I am very safe downstairs. I think.

Wishing you all the best, in your next assignment.

Ora pro nobis.

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* Dried game meat