Is there such a thing as “Justice” in the world? Or is justice just the excuse we use to impel our will on the world?
If we believe in justice, then we must also believe in the proof of its punishment, for without the meting, there is no resultant inflection felt in the flesh.
We become metered in a cyclone that rotates between misdeed, misjudgment and corporal teaching that bleeds before scarring.
We use the robes of justice to veil our eyes to the indiscriminate prejudice against those not in power — but who are forever useful to the powerful — and we wrap our wishes in the flag and tie in evergreen glad tidings to make us feel less barbaric and to excuse, while condoning, the revulsion of our mythical memes against the damnation of our undivine efforts.