Our History Is An Aggregate Of Last

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There Is A Theory Going Around That The U.s.a. Was And Still Is A Gigantic Masonic Plot Under The Ultimate Control Of The Group Known As The Illuminati. It Is Difficult To Look For Long At The Strange Single Eye Crowning The Pyramid Which Is Found On Every Dollar Bill And Not Begin To Believe The Story, A Little. Too Many Anarchists In 19th-century Europe—bakunin, Proudhon, Salverio Friscia—were Masons For It To Be Pure Chance. Lovers Of Global Conspiracy, Not All Of Them Catholic, Can Count On The Masons For A Few Good Shivers And Voids When All Else Fails.

Liebig Himself Seems To Have Occupied The Role Of A Gate, Or Sorting-demon, Such As His Younger Contemporary Clerk Maxwell Once Proposed, Helping To Concentrate Energy Into One Favored Room Of The Creation At The Expense Of Everything Else.

It's Been A Prevalent Notion. Fallen Sparks. Fragments Of Vessels Broken At The Creation. And Someday, Somehow, Before The End, A Gathering Back To Home. A Messenger From The Kingdom, Arriving At The Last Moment. But I Tell You There Is No Such Message, No Such Home -- Only The Millions Of Last Moments . . . Nothing More. Our History Is An Aggregate Of Last Moments.

Murphy's Law, That Brash Proletarian Restatement Of Godel's Theorem.