by Alvin Mitchell

Created on: September 09, 2009

Rain-dropsfrom Hell:

Judgment Day begins in the USA!

Rain drops keep fallin' on my head; but, that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red, cause, cryin's not for metho' rain drops keep fallin', they keep fallin' (or, something along those lines, from a 1970 secular classic by B. J. Thomas).

Birthof the death, of a global super-power: Bye, bye Ms. American Pie!

Thus, we conclude this study, in shall we say, virtual 'surreality'(?), on a note of more surrealism, featuring still the American and his dream-machine. In this 'machine', he rides the wave of modernism, at the crest of an unprecedented streak of applied ingenuity that is ultimately not of himself (although he will never see it this way, in this life, both his machine and the wave being without parallel, in human history). He begins each day blissfully submerged in a sea of innovation. Who could ever have envisioned that he would, at this momentat the same timebe perched so precariously astride the horn of an impending, piercing dilemma (all of this highlighted by a backdrop of a minimum six thousands years of bone dry, technologically barren landscape behind him, and, all of humanity)? No one, even now, can imagine thus so terrifying a dilemma being deliberately, specifically tailored and purposed intentionally so as to catastrophically shred him and his world, forever. Hence, many, many times removed from discrediting either God or His word by means of an intellect sharpened and honed through superior education and/or his new technologies (a.k.a., enlightenment, and, modernism), he by his industry has been a leader in the establishment of the reality and viability of creation's Intelligent Designer, and hereby, the credibility of His Bible, with all of its claims, including all of its last-days prophecies (each virtually as ludicrous, as it was untenable, prior to AD 1900!).

As one observes and ponders the predicament of his Divinely ill-fated but most blessed of nations, it is as if witnessing the American's dreamyesterday sweet, apparently eternal, treacherously his alonetoday turning sour, as it gives way now to an eleventh-hour, pot-bellied pregnancy. Fertilized in vitro on the sperm of a promise (well outside the womb of either practicality or reason), that pregnancy was canned, preserved until our times only within the beaker, of the prophet's sealed vision. Out of a two thousand year dormancy, from an embryonic past, that vision is an ancient impregnation that, having been borne

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