The old dragon sits in his cave.
His breaths have come and gone for more than six thousand years.
His bed is a hoard of loot; there are gems, jewels and precious metals that he uses for his comfort. Every bit of ill-gotten gain is in information and data misused for purposes of self-interest; there are tricks, coercive techniques, ploys involving bribery and blackmail, ruses of half truths, scandal spreading methods, and the entertainment of bread and circuses to keep the sheep where they are. Mixed in are many deflections to areas of irrelevancy put out by his servants and slaves, and enough disinformation spread among his riches to choke billions. He knows that emotional control and the perceptions (not reality) of the common people outside of his domain form the structure of his fortress. In total it is an amorphous barrier so complicated and daunting that rarely does one even get a glimmer of an idea of the direction needed to find his home.
But a young and somewhat psychic lad outside learned how to speculate using common sense. At first he doubted his own conclusions; however, as time went on he found his hunches to be proven right over and over. So he continued even in the face of ridicule and insults hurled at him by puppets controlled by the ancient villain. Some of the information that he came to believe seemed to be beyond belief but he learned that the protective mechanisms that the dragon had established intentionally did things that—as viewed by people out of the loop—were often engineered to be beyond belief (Oh no, they surely couldn’t have done that!) The goal was always to keep the masses of people away from the knowledge and understanding of the established shadow government’s systems, methods and goals.
It used to be fairly easy in the old days: for thousands of years truth was given a bad name; everyday life was so torturous that people strove against reality. The dragon could wander freely in those earlier times. Priests and bishops said mass for him, members of royalty bowed down when he came near and millions of animals and people were slaughtered for his sake. But the atmosphere slowly changed somehow; for a few hundred years before this time he retreated to a place at the mouth of his cave and breathed fire at anyone who came near. And since he sees that, in these latter days, his machinations don’t function as well as they once did, he has gone into the semi-darkness, deeper inside of his cave, to a fall-back position on top of his great wealth.
Even as psychic as the older man has become he knows that he will make mistakes (future generations will discover them and—perhaps—decry his efforts) but he also knows that, errors or not, the elimination of all things emanating from this enslaver of mankind must end. The feeling is, let’s have enough faith in ourselves to get rid of this insidious horror and then we’ll figure out our own path.
Millions have made a try for the dragon’s riches. Don’t get stupid; they are all dead. Instead, what needs to be done is to fill in the cave opening with a thickness of twenty feet of concrete and then to station guards outside until it hardens into stone.
“This people whom you and your like have lulled
To sleep shall be awakened. You have softened
and debased the good metal of their souls.
I declare war on you and everything
You stand for.”
Brand, act three. Ibsen.
