Living people of the Earth

The living people of the Earth, they’re lost without their swords, their giant shears sticky with the dried blood of enemies and hunt, and how do they sharpen those swords if not on the bones of the next dead? How could they conceivably lose something so valuable to them, something that, though the nature of the tool appears to be destruction or protection, is more or less a chisel or paintbrush, for it helps them render their lives into the fashion they desire? The living people of the Earth, the truth is that they are nothing without their minds, for their swords and stones are tools and nothing more, while their minds are the true weapons continuously at their disposal… 

For the stone throwers and the sword wielders are as primitive as their ancestors and the ancestors of their ancestors, toiling in seas of blood and upon rolling hills of flesh to remain alive, to survive, which is their ultimate state-of-being, their highest conceivable honor, an achievement, but ultimately, their most enduring failure. Man is a mortal creature; this is one of the few things we can actually attest to knowing. So while the stone throwers and the sword wielders ache and kill and burn the people of the world as well as the world itself, the thinking men resurrect the spirits that came before and had also failed, the spirits with blood on their shadow-hands and in the ducts of their eyes, blood in the hair and caked upon their faces, blood forever adrift in their guts, for they as killers and hunters were largely unable to translate into language the narrative of those innumerable hunts and kills, their bloody and authentic histories, their failures, and so those spirits must now rely on posterity to conjure them back into the realm of the living so as to pass on their bequests to equally indifferent hunters and killers and the few enlightened souls who must transcribe for them. 

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