I don’t write about outer space because I’ve never been an astronaut. The closest I’ve gotten to the moon, like most everyone else save for a handful of people, is watching the moon landing on television whenever the anniversary rolled around. That’s as far as my knowledge of how it feels to take one small step for man extends, so my perspective on it would be less than exhilarating.
Sure, I can start unspooling hypothetical yarns about how maybe there was never a moonwalk, to begin with, how we may have never gone to space, how we’re all living in some alien’s ant farm, nothing more than entertainment for a bored Martian. In the end, that would be a waste of time, something to do for want of doing something. When you’ve got kids, that sort of time is unheard of.
When I sit down to write something, I do so because I feel it needs to be said, and because I have a somewhat unique perspective on the subject matter. This is largely the reason I’ve been focusing on the dangers and pitfalls of Marxism. It’s because I’ve lived it, I’ve seen it not in its glorious beginnings, but its liver-spotted, degraded, dying stages and my take on it is more granular than most.
Because I’ve lived it, because I’ve seen how Communism can leach the joy and the will to live from the faces of the masses, no amount of screaming, screeching, and insistence as to how the only hurdle standing in the way of a perfect utopia is private property rights, will make me change my position.
There is a great big chasm between the theory of a thing and the practice thereof. Theoretically, if you cut out a thousand calories from your daily intake, and walk an extra couple miles each day, by this time next year, you will have reached your goal weight. The theory is simple enough. If the practice were as simple as the theory, we wouldn’t have close to two-thirds of the population in this country be deemed as overweight or obese, now would we?
It’s easy to regurgitate pabulum you heard from some pseudo-intellectual with less body odor than you. Still, once you start asking some simple, logical questions, you realize the only intellect they possessed was the ability to dupe you.
Everyone gets everything for free! Great, super, fantastic! Who wouldn’t sign onto that gravy train? It’s the best of both worlds. You do nothing to get everything. All gravy, no biscuit, baby! But who makes the gravy you’re hungrily sipping through that paper straw? It doesn’t magically appear. Someone has to make it, and it’s the height of hubris to assume that anyone would sweat and toil endlessly so that you could enjoy the spoils of their labor.
At first, the gravy train jugs along because you’re siphoning other people’s money, but eventually, those people run out, and they too are forced to join the ranks of the miserable and dependent. It’s at that precise moment that the wheels begin to come off. The early adopters are expecting the same amount of gravy, while the gravy producers have all stopped producing.
By then it’s too late to do anything about it because those who have consolidated power have taken measures to not only insulate themselves from the fate of the masses they purported to be fighting for but to protect their power once the peons realized that they’d been duped. Because that’s the thing once you get past all the flowery speeches, and the promise of equity for all: they know the system they’re attempting to implement will fail eventually. They are fully aware that socialism, Marxism, or Communism, are unsustainable concepts, but they don’t care. They want the power they don’t have, and they’re willing to condemn your children and your children’s children to a life of misery to get it.
With love in Christ,
Michael Boldea Jr.