BBC – What Do We Know About the Drones Over New Jersey?
Drones over New Jersey are cellos – Yo-Yo Ma bass strings humming Cantata for All Mysteries.
Aliens feeding us eye candy – peanut M&M's of light flashing red/green, red/green – extraterrestrial Morse Code for "Take and eat, this is my body."
Their bons mots and comic relief – "Hey, everyone, lighten up [sic]!" Let's get our Lenny Bruce on, that bit from the Cuban Missile Crisis in '62, him screaming "We're all gonna die!" into the mic, which may or may not have been hilarious at the time, or now.
Lab leak theory – distracted researches let the AI escape with the keys to dad's Volvo and a CIA credit card. Clone the car, fit it with wings and rotors. Presto! Sky's the limit!
Don't let the drama fool you. It's the holidays and we need everyone to keep shopping. Heads down at the mall folks.
Connect the dots and soon we are playing hangman, a string of holiday lights growing inch by inch until tied into a noose, draped from the gallows of suburban porch lamps like vigilante justice.
Let's go the miracle route – did we miss our cosmic cue? Flashing stars in the east above Bethlehem PA. Where are the Wise Men? Stuck on the Path train like the rest of us, late for work and PowerPoint frankincense, sipping their Starbucks pumpkin myrrh lattes.
It's Amazon after the Santa Inc. takeover. Sleds giving way to tech that strafes us with staccato pleasure packages, Rudolph the Red-Nose fly-by-wire rooster tails across the sky.
No, I think it is the old sagas – the centenary of our man Eliot droning on about the Waste Land – Trenton, Newark, Port Elizabeth, we follow his lines like taillights streaking past refineries on the NJ Turnpike.
He says, finally, to lift up our eyes, be not severe. Shed fear, soften our hearts. Together, listen to the great, whirring Om of rotor harmoniums. The sky leads our chanting:
"Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih"
qbit 
We are a mess. Are we destined to become broken Christmas lights hanging from cords we happily strung ourselves on? Great writing!!!
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Hahaha! Thanks. We are indeed a hot mess.
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I’m going to have to let this one steep a bit before i comment.
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You’ve been reading Eliot, haven’t you? Good choice. I have decided to celebrate Griftmas as would a patient etherized upon a table. Meanwhile, heads down, shoppers!
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Eliot on the indoor ski hill at the American Dream Mall in the Meadowlands. There are Waste Lands, and there are Waste Lands.
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Hallucinogenic, qbit, much like the frenetic news/propaganda/shopaholic programming we’re inundated with to the point that whatever is transcendent is traduced under the wheels of our Volvos and trains. Grim, very grim. Santa seems more a Grinch that stole Christmas than ever.
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Anonymous me.
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Thanks so much Dora. Yes to all that.
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Dora on the down low! Code name: Ink Ognito.
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Ink Ognita, at your service!
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Excelsior. From the title, which I can almost hear you pause after Holy… with perhaps a different word also ending in ‘t’ implied in how you exhale ‘Night’.
Searing, incisive, wry, and threaded with the fear of rotors in the night. A tour de force.
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Holy s**t indeed.
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Holy Harmonium Batman, we gotta bees’ nest of drones in our bonnet! What a stir you whip up in Jersey. A merry buzz strung & stung with the holiday blues. Whatever they are, we deserve ’em.
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Yes, we certainly do. Hmm… missed opportunity for “catching a buzz…” Damn!
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You have captured certain truths about the holidays! And, yes, we do need everyone to keep shopping……..until they figure out where the drones come from, at least!
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Avoid the mall, holidaze and otherwise, at least that’s my mantra. Peanut M&M’s–I haven’t had them in years, but they sound pretty good right about now instead of choking on Volvo and refinery dust. Good stuff, q.
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