“But you can’t make people listen. They have to come round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up around them.”
Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
“The masses had reached the point where they would, at the same time, believe everything and nothing, think that everything was possible and that nothing was true. Mass propaganda discovered that its audience was ready at all times to believe the worst, no matter how absurd, and did not particularly object to being deceived because it held every statement to be a lie anyhow.”
Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism
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It is my sincere desire to provide readers of this site with the best unbiased information available, and a forum where it can be discussed openly, as our Founders intended. But it is not easy nor inexpensive to do so, especially when those who wish to prevent us from making the truth known, attack us without mercy on all fronts on a daily basis. So each time you visit the site, I would ask that you consider the value that you receive and have received from The Burning Platform and the community of which you are a vital part. I can't do it all alone, and I need your help and support to keep it alive. Please consider contributing an amount commensurate to the value that you receive from this site and community, or even by becoming a sustaining supporter through periodic contributions. [Burning Platform LLC - PO Box 1520 Kulpsville, PA 19443] or Paypal
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To donate via Stripe, click here.
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Use promo code ILMF2, and save up to 66% on all MyPillow purchases. (The Burning Platform benefits when you use this promo code.)
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“The wheel of Destiny rolls on to its end; the birth of the
City entails its death. Beginning and end, a peasant cottage and a tenement-
block are related to one another as soul and intellect, as blood and stone.
But “Time” is no abstract phrase, but a name for the actuality of Irreversi-
bility. Here there is only forward, never back. Long, long ago the country
bore the country-town and nourished it with her best blood. Now the giant
city sucks the country dry, insatiably and incessantly demanding and devouring
fresh streams of men, till it wearies and dies in the midst of an almost unin-
habited waste of country. Once the full sinful beauty of this last marvel of all
history has captured a victim, it never lets him go. Primitive folk can loose
themselves from the soil and wander, but the intellectual nomad never. Home-
sickness for the great city is keener than any other nostalgia. Home is for
him any one of these giant cities, but even the nearest village is alien territory.
He would sooner die upon the pavement than go “back” to the land. Even
disgust at this pretentiousness, weariness of the thousand-hued glitter, the
tadium vita that in the end overcomes many, does not set them free. They take
the City with them into the mountains or on the sea. They have lost the
country within themselves and will never regain it outside.”
Oswald Spengler