Chicken and Egg

Once upon a time, there was no once upon a time. Birds of prey would swoop down to pluck out the moral of every story before aspiring wise men could discern them. When it rained, those who slept on their backs drowned. If the ground shook violently enough, territorial disputes resolved themselves without diplomacy. Traditions did not stray far from pulse protection. Institutions you can now crash a car into without denting were once dream-like bumping up against sprites and amulets. There were no need of attorneys. When the first wave of famine hit, all marriages were annulled. Surplus has a way of renegotiating terms. The most iron clad agreements are blowtorched by an increase or loss of standing. Though a man pledges to an order, pricks his finger, and gives himself wholly to the diligent study of bylaws, he will reconsider upon shifting opportunity. This is the maker of all houses. So delicate intellectuals tricked the warrior class into discarding organ meat. With a little theater involving temples demands began the theft of nutrition and mores. There was one kind of god, drug, and weapon for each social stratum. Now a person must check in with no less than two bureaucracies to be certain of his own identity. Mark it well, the clever will overplay their hand causing everything around them to rot with absurdity. And the birds of prey will purge us down to necessity once more.