Being in the gaze became being in the political nose

An Echo of Political Bleh is a a ghostly bit of ectoplasm oozing into the ears of the living.

It is a dead gelatinous idea, inserted into the living body politic.  

If you die without history or an independent mind you are just more Bleh in line becoming a ghost artifact for the living.

Pungent slippers that knew the stinky feet of scrooge counting his money sold at auction to another scrooge.

The banal haunts of rich men are often a small foul thing they buy at auction.  They search for their likeness in artifacts and find a soul sock.

Your legacy can be an echo of stale poltical bleh.

Political bleh is a fog in which  one thousand babies that sort of know one another in a crowd kill each other in war. 
 

The powerful need to control the birth of their cannon fodder. 

 Pullet Hawk for vice president will be haunting women’s underwear for at least a century after death.

He is sniffing wombs. 

It’s very old and very dangerous political bleh.  

 

 

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