Silent Oppression

Police reform is never voluntary or socially encouraged by those who benefit from the abuse of power. Because of this, it can only be reached by unwavering social pressure. In point of fact, police reform (in all levels of law enforcement) is the single greatest issue that needs to be addressed to be able to combat systemic corruption all over the world. 
For generations, excessive power and privilege has been handed to law enforcement--facilitating and cultivating a propagandized patriotism for any and everyone in uniform. But a badge does not make someone a hero just for wearing it. A uniform does not make someone a hero just for wearing it. And a country of officers that stands behind these symbols more than the citizens they've sworn to protect is sorely in need of real heroes, expansive/sweeping-police-reform and zealous moral indignation at the continuing lack thereof... Honestly, how in the fuck can any self-respecting officer in this day and age NOT speak out and demand internal reform? How can they NOT give voice to the victims who have senselessly died because of this disregard for human life? And how can they prioritize pensions and careers to the ongoing criminality of their own fucking work place?
If I were a half decent person working in a criminal environment at the very least I'd quit. If I were a good person, I'd speak out--vehemently!!! I'd say we all expect officers of the law to be, at the very least, half decent people. Their silence says otherwise. Their silence speaks volumes. Good cop or bad cop, if you stay silent, you side with the bad.
Only police protests driven BY officers can facilitate genuine reform. And only citizens who refuse to support the favourability of those in uniform can help influence a transition away from corruption to one of fever pitch criticism and impeachable moral standards. An officer is not an officer simply for wearing a badge--he is one for upholding moral integrity and dignity at all times. Otherwise, they're criminals wearing badges. Not necessarily for breaking the law, but for helping cultivate a status quo that is lenient to those officers who do.
It's not as simple as 'fuck the police'. It's as simple as 'fuck the police who stay silent'.
So, dear police officers,
On behalf of basic moral integrity in the face of a broken system that incubates and encourages corruption: Quit. Speak out. Stand up. Risk your careers. Risk your safety nets. Be the heroes people expect you to be. Or continue doing nothing and remain unable to do your jobs by keeping them as they are. The choice is yours. But know that it will become increasingly difficult for you to think of yourselves as heroes simply for wearing badges. People are beginning to see you for the criminal organization that you are, whether you're able to admit it to yourselves yet or not.


Sanders' Supporters Fascist Disdain of Trump's Fascist Rhetoric

SoOOOooo... I'm hugely anti-establishment, and regard the inner sphere of the electorate as entirely misguided regardless of individual partisanship. And while, yes, if I were to conform and be duped into thinking this election wasn't rigged, I'd be 100% for Sanders and 100% against Trump. But, I'm not, because, as stated, it's a rigged game to incubate the facade of voting being legitimate, which it isn't. Instead, voting is an elaborate show to entice people's emotional energy and by way of that, to undermine legitimate subversion against the establishment as a whole.
Now, that said, if Trump supporters had crashed a Bernie Sanders rally in the way that Sanders' supporters just violently crashed Trumps' in Chicago, the media would absolutely FREAK OUT (in excess of their perpetual freak outs as is). The reason? Because that would be a clearcut extension of the fascism they supposedly stand so vigilantly in opposition to. And yet, ironically, condone if said conduct falls on the side of the fence they're backing. Now, they don't condone it by outright saying or even suggesting it's justified. But they do condone it in the sense of their saying it's all Trump's fault because of his rhetoric.
Hatespeech, no matter how hateful, is still free speech. And while it can be a bitter, disgusting pill to swallow or to sit idly by in the presence of, the conduct of anti-Trump demonstrators last night was to ENACT the very fascist, violent, hateful actions they supposedly stand in opposition to. In other words... flagrant hypocrisy by ingesting the bait of hatred and, in that, realizing it within themselves!
So, dear electorate, whether blindly supporting the left or the right in this circus of an election: If you cannot uphold the peaceful validity of your beliefs with the consistency of your actions, then recognize that you too have become a part of the system that perpetuates and incubates violence and intolerance. It doesn't fucking matter who you vote for--it matters if you live by the tenets you purport to vote by way of!
So if you're 'feeling the Bern' to the extent where you're ready to 'Burn your opposition to the ground', then you have allowed yourself to become the very oppressive hatred you so hate. Grow up!



I'm getting pretty tired of hearing people talk about the US election for president as if it's not on the same level of cliche, over the top entertainment as the WWE (which, ironically, also once featured the real life Donald Trump as a wrestling character). So, to that end, if you have any worries about who's going to win between the ‘Trump party’ and the ‘Hillary party’, here's the lowdown of what's actually going on...

It's important to understand that the American political machine is not run by its pageant contestants. It's run by the corporations and financial interests that put on the show prancing those contestants before the electorate. I.e. it’s run by industrialists that collectively make up the establishment.

Holding faith in presidential candidates to change the world while ignoring the private interests who fund their campaigns, the media-networks that largely monopolize the platform for their debates/exposure, or the lobbyists who outnumber congressmen 4-1, is akin to believing Santa Claus gives you presents manufactured by elves, rather than your parents purchasing them from Wal-Mart. It is a Disney-esque, farcical, 'make believe' reduction of a hugely complex deep state reality--the President does not run the country, he helps run the PR campaign for the country.

The CIA and the vast intelligence network associated with it actually make the decisions that dictate the course of the American machine. And, moreover, it is their oligarchic capitalistic engine that burns on fiat currency printed by the Federal Reserve (a private bank) that lies at the heart of America. Not the President. He (or soon to be she) is more akin to a Bobblehead resting on the hood of a bulldozer, paving over public opinion of whatever the bulldozer needs to pave over next.

To that end, the grasp of the geopolitical stage as demonstrated by 'We the people' is so placated and co-opted by laughably simplistic narratives, that it is no longer representative of or in line with reality. Instead, it has become a joke. A show. A pageant. A Disney film in which it is ‘up to us!’ to stop the 'evil business man Trump' by electing the 'righteous warrior X (in this case Hillary).’ Who, in truth, is merely another long standing Washington insider with tremendous establishment experience. And because of that, she has earned her shot at the front of the bulldozer, just as public opinion turns in the direction of helping her flatten Trump’s party.

Broken-record narratives about ‘terrorism’... narratives about the ‘American dream gone awry’ only to ‘soon be brought miraculously back from the dead’... narratives about all manner of things that underlie this ongoing propaganda farce will perpetuate both our illusions of and context of supposed ‘political realities'. 'Realities' which, once again, are really just a few, select, emotional-plot-points overemphasized in the media to skew the electorate to a calculative, perpetual fever of which we are constantly reassured the only cure to is 'how we vote.'

In truth, by doing this, we will only continue to slip deeper into the womb of the establishment until we are all but synonymous with it. We become willful participants in our own ignorance, pouncing upon sound-bite logic rather than full-fledged-issues—even going so far as to become defensive towards legitimate political discussions and, instead, clinging to overly-simplistic, sentimentalized campaign slogans. In this process we are goaded, emotionally manipulated, made to be afraid, taught not to think or question, and, above all, conditioned to be an obedient-pageant-audience to the immaculate establishment-pageant-election taking place before our eyes. This... is... entertainment—Both a comedy and a tragically unfunny tragedy.

So don't worry. Because whichever team wins, whether it's the Reds or the Blues (and it is going to be the Blues), business in America will continue as usual: Wars will expand, drone strikes will increase, capitalism will continue, the medical system (insured or not) will remain for profit, centralized banking will prevail and we the people will be none the wiser of how much wisdom we truly lack by voting for this show to go on.


Queen Niqab

Dear fellow 'non-old-stock-citizens',
When I got my Canadian citizenship after living here for 14 years, they made everyone in attendance pledge allegiance to the queen... of England... seriously! Which, morally, I was utterly opposed to. So, instead, I said 'Queen Latifah'... 
I find it odd that, despite this glaring, unnecessary, moral imposition that regularly takes place during the citizenship ceremony, people are now going even further and throwing a fuss about the 'validity' of a citizen who covers their face to, quite reasonably, stay true to their individual beliefs and values. The same beliefs and values supposedly granted to them to freely practice in the country they are becoming a citizen of! All this, once again, while ignoring the hypocrisy of being forced to swear allegiance to a long outdated imperialistic-bloodline-monarch from another country, who holds no rightful bearing in this one, or for that matter, her own.
Any 'royalty' need abdicate the throne to be truly progressive--not to mention releasing their tentacles from their previous 'properties' and ill-gotten-acquisitions. Any 'free country' need grant the freedoms it purports to be genuine. And any engrained inherent conservatism within the citizenship ceremony itself is a fundamental betrayal of the values we as Canadians so arrogantly boast about and yet so often fail to uphold.
Long live the Queen but you can't wear a Niqab? Fuck that. Long live Queen Latifah and wear a Niqab anywhere you damn well please. Welcome to Canada, sorry about all the idiots.
Since, Teace



Destiny isn’t written. It’s in the writing. Everyday, one moment at a time. A chance encounter, a mysterious sequence of events, an uncharted course on an open horizon. Days are grains of sand. And night sees them fall through the hourglass, forming mountains of memories as we swing on the spiral. The purpose isn’t to reach a destination, it’s to reach out. To grow. Explore. Expand. Evolve. To feel your pulse quicken and your heart beat. Chase dreams. Risk being uncomfortable. And know that everything will be alright. Because you’re a part of something greater than yourself. And you become greater the more you’re a part of it.

The common cliché that everything happens for a reason isn’t quite true. The truth is, everything happens and we reason why that might be. The bigger picture is more than we can see. The larger purpose is more than we can guess. And the part that chance plays in it all is like a jester jousting. Truth is, everything happens for a reason, but chance doesn’t reason.

Intuition is the key. Wisdom is the safe. And where one meets the other, both are rewarded. Nurture the journey or risk it all and fall. Do both. Through the clouds to the stars and back again. That’s the path. For however the sun falls on the horizon, however the mountains gleam, know that chance will unsettle any course or path through time but that which you can never know. No time. No guarantee. No fate but what you make. And know destiny.


Fires of Adversity

Some of us aren't like the rest. We were born dreamers. Insisting on living outside of the box. Insisting on ignoring the rules. Some of us have had to study how to appear normal. We’ve had to learn to be bland, learn to be obedient and, most of all, learn to be quiet. Some of us have had to master hiding who we really are underneath. Fake smiles. Counterfeit complacency. Sheep’s clothing cut for our conscience not a wolf. The truth is, that in this world, for some of us, it’s not a descent into madness that has plagued our lives, it’s the descent into what this world regards as sanity. 

True madness is bigger than one man. True madness takes a society to realize. But when you only see society as flocks of sheep, you never realize how many have simply learned to appear that way. How many might be hiding under the veil of that society, waiting to unsheathe themselves and live freely—to live for what they want to live for. The world can surprise you. And in the thralls of change, more and more people will stand up to both who they’ve been convinced they are, as well as those around them that have reaffirmed the mirage, and the shackles of this society's expectations that have weighed on us all. In the thralls of change, anything can happen—but it has to happen inside of us first. The slow process of waking up, finding yourself, seeing past the illusions and knowing the truth. To grow in fires of adversity and extinguish the flame. Because while those of us born different may have had to learn to be invisible in this world, in times of change, it falls on all dreamers to be seen and to change the world.


Syrian Resources Trump Global Morals

From a geopolitical standpoint, 1500 people dying from chemical weapons in Syria is an appetizer to greater brooding conflicts, all of which directly surround the resources in the middle east and Africa. There's no such thing as morality when everyone has their hands in a resource-cookie-jar built around explicitly murdering, manipulating or exploiting entire countries for the sake of stealing or controlling resources.

Thus, no one can very well step in to intervene on the moral high ground against this injustice when the very precedent for the conflict and the framework for continuing to acquire said resources globally is implicitly nefarious and depends on constant warfare and exponential military growth to function. That's the market. And the G20 controls the market.

Yes, chemical weapons are a red line that shouldn't be crossed. But because it's a red line drawn overtop so much spilled blood that it's not fully seen for the violation of humanity that it is--instead, it's more like a continuation of our decent. I mean honestly, we're in the third world war already, but nobody wants to admit that it's about resources and market shares rather than principles and humanity.


Eulogy To No-One-In-Particular

I didn’t know no-one-in-particular particularly well, but I do have a few words to say about them after hearing the news of their untimely, or otherwise completely expected, demise.

Firstly, they will be missed. Or not. By people who actually made a point of showing they cared about them while they were still alive. Or not. They will be thought of fondly. Or not. And will live on in our memories. Or not. But for now at least, we’ll all pretend like that’s the case and match one another’s solemn expressions and hallowed words of the recently deceased’s nostalgic footprints. This will be done mostly through the telling of redundant stories or buried feelings that only in death do we fully celebrate bringing to life.

No-one-in-particular was a good person. Or not. And inspired in those around them an elaborate list of very positive things that would be either gross exaggerations or flat out laughable to say while they were still alive. Depending on how wealthy they were, and how close we were, I may or may not take it upon myself to give an extra shit about the loss of them in the company of others less likely to have been included in their will. I do this both out of social obligation and the hope that karma only pays attention when I’m feeling guilty about dead people leaving me things and living people resenting me for those things that I now own.

Anytime I see a photograph of no-one-in-particular I will feel a stabbing glimpse of my own mortality and then sweep it under the rug of denial that is middle age through senility. Depending on how close we were I may or may not reflect on my own life after hearing about their death. I may or may not change my life after hearing about their death. Family could suddenly become more important to me. Perspective on what’s really important in life may finally make itself clear. But one thing’s for certain. After the death of no-one-in-particular, no one in particular will be able to live the same way they used to. And as age chips away the tender flesh of our lives and leaves us scarred and wrinkled from it’s experiences, one day, we too will become quite particular about the idea of no-one-in-particular.


Thanksgiving in Retrospect

One afternoon, my friend and I walked fifty odd blocks through Manhattan to reach the home of an old friend who had been gracious enough to invite us over for thanksgiving dinner. The guests of the evening included: Two elderly white gay men, an elderly black German actress, one Jewish male neighbor, One black middle aged insurance executive and my friend and I, both of whom are straight, middle class and white. It was a relatively diverse gathering of people who weren’t particularly intertwined in their lives or familiar with one another as a group. And yet, despite our differences, as miniscule and irrelevant as they were, we came together to celebrate the occasion and share one of the strangest thanksgivings I’ve ever had.

            Obama had just won his re-election campaign and the country was either beside itself with joy, devastated to it’s very core, or fully aware of the fact that the political process within the US is just a puppet show to perpetuate the illusion of democracy. Of those present, myself, my friend, the Jewish neighbor and the two elderly gay men, we were all, more or less, of the same political exasperation regarding the recent pointless-election. However, both the elderly black actress and the middle aged black insurance executive were extremely happy that Obama had won. I asked why? What has Obama ever done for the black community while he’s been in office? And, apart from an ‘anything but Romney’ mentality, how could anyone condone his betrayals over the past four years? I too had once foolishly believed in and voted for the man. But, despite my naivety and false hope, the reality of his corruption and lapdog nature to corporate and financial interests, had since left me disillusioned—had since left me aware of what’s really happening.

            And, so, it was on that note of ‘what’s really happening’ that I had posed my question of ‘What has Obama done for the black community?’ A question clearly targeted at race. For, prior to that point, and for much of the earlier evening, a debate had erupted between the Jewish Neighbor and the middle aged black executive about the contemporary state, and continued practice, of racism in America. About the fact that Romney had, suggestively run on the idea of ‘what America used to be’ of ‘bringing back the good old days’ of ‘with or without expressly saying it: telling white voters to vote for the white guy’. A deplorable and pathetic notion, not unlike the entirely of the man’s campaign. It failed. As it should have. And, for that, both the middle aged black executive and the elderly black actress, felt proud of their country—for being more multicultural—for evolving. That, ultimately, is what Obama had done for the black community, they said: “He managed to be black and get into the white house. That’s what he did for the black community.”

            The discussion continued and branched off. At various points people took some offense to what was being said, based on the various known differences between us. In a room full of the young and old, of Jewish, of gays, of blacks, whites, Europeans, Canadians, American’s, and nearly every variety of prejudice that exists in our world, we engaged in a serious discussion and debate about the matter. Because, as many of us emphasized, and as slowly became apparent through the progression of the subject, it is our prejudices and emotional strings that determine the electoral process nowadays, and, in doing so, obscures the very point of those elections—to nominate a leader, not a mascot.

            The elderly black actress told a beautiful story of being back in Germany in the seventies. She was walking down the street one day and noticed a little white German girl approaching her. The little girl seemed apprehensive for some reason, and, in response to her apprehension so too did the, then, young black actress. The two stopped before one another, sensing something was to be said. Then, to her surprise, the little white German girl leaned forward and stated in a slightly whispered tone: “Nigger”.

The black actress stood stunned, neither particularly offended nor provoked by the little girls statement. Just stunned. She took a moment and, eventually, responded: “Deutsche.”

The little girl recoiled, surprised and confused by what had just been said to her. She took another moment before responding again, slightly louder than before: “Nigger.”

The black actress maintained her composure, staring into the eyes of the belligerent little white German girl. She responded, as she had before: “Deutsche.”

The little girl clenched her fists and became noticeably upset. She leaned forward and once more, used the only tool at her disposal, her hatred: “Nigger!”

The black actress smiled, refusing to indulge the little girl’s emotional demands. She responded, once more, just as she had before: “Deutsche.”

At this the little girl deflated. Her anger melted from her eyes and she stood bewildered, slowly crumbling to tears. She covered her face and ran away, crying for her mother, scorned and embarrassed by her own contempt for those unlike her that she did not know, nor whom did she dare to introduce herself to.

                The elderly black woman finished her story and I smiled, sitting on the couch, appreciating her reenactment. Her point was well heard—racism only survives if you let it—if you feed it or foster it. Pass it through the generations or use it as a political tool for good or bad. Racism is a part of this countries history, one buried by half assed attempts to amend the damage it’s done, or, to pretend that it still doesn’t exist. But it does.

The middle aged black executive told a story too. During hurricane Sandy he had gotten lost in his girlfriends apartment complex, navigating the underbelly with a flashlight in complete darkness. In doing so, he had come across two black women, also lost from the confusion of the storm, and asked a question: “Excuse me. Do you know if there’s a stairwell around down here?”

The two black woman scowled at the middle aged black executive. They responded to his amazement: “Well, if you lived in the damn building you’d know, wouldn’t you?!”

The middle aged black executive was stunned, utterly stunned. He looked at the hatred in their eyes, listened to the contempt in their voices, and realized that despite the fact they were both black too, despite the fact that they were all in the same boat trying to navigate the storm together, he had just been labeled and discriminated against—he recognized their racism.

The Jewish neighbor told a story—an account of Martin Luther King Jr. being punched in the face by a racist white man. In the middle of his followers, in the middle of a heated racial era, a white man had walked up to Dr. King and punched him square in the face. To this, Dr. King, briefly tended his wound, took a breath and instructed his enraged and livid friends and followers to unhand the man and let him go free. For, after all, he is as much a victim of his hatred and racism as we are.

               By the end of the night, we had all either managed to mildly offend, inspire, or be mildly offended and inspired by one another’s words. We had all told stories, shared wounds, broken bread and enjoyed our thanksgiving discussing something genuinely important. At times, I was worried people wouldn’t keep their composure, or, that they might disagree so much as to consider one another enemies. At times, it got heated. At times, it got tense. But, despite that uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty that accompanies any substantial and honest debate, by the end of the night, our embraces and heartfelt goodbye’s were not marked with scorn or malice but rather a deep appreciation and love for having listened to one another—for understanding and valuing one another’s opinions. Because, although we may not like to admit it, racism is still very much alive in the United States and in the lives of it’s citizens.

              Ironically, that night made me reflect on the mythology of thanksgiving—of, long ago, a similar bringing together of divided people’s, through culture, custom, language and, race. To share a meal, break bread and, in doing so, mend wounds born from the differences between us by giving thanks to the ties that bind. 


Puzzles of Lies and Half Truths

I have supported Occupy Wall Street from day one. I believed, and continue to believe, that the people united can never be defeated; that the American Government and the international-banking-cartel needs to be held accountable for their criminal acts and lies of epic proportions. But, most of all, in the fledgling birth of the OWS movement and the sudden explosion of support that came to it after the horrifying conduct of one Anthony Bologna, I had hoped for the idea that a true democracy could be built on the shoulders of everyday people collectively reaching for the stars. There was momentum. There was promise. And, then, as there always has been, there was a blowback from the powers that be of such magnitude that it robbed the movement of it’s access to public grounds, it’s capacity to effectively reach the masses and it’s ability to continue forward without brutal repercussions, whether they be publicized or not.

OWS was not killed or disbanded. It was not crushed or forgotten. Instead, it was neutered and defanged. The spirit of the movement and the collective anger and frustration with political and financial corruption remains as strong as ever. However, the masses of cattle that are the politically complacent or viciously misinformed, which OWS had hoped to inspire, have not yet become so starved or agitated as to begin their stampede for justice. And, unfortunately, until they do, I believe that the OWS movement will fail time and time again—endlessly throwing themselves, without sufficient weight, against the still far too powerful arms of the contemporary American-police-state. Put simply, things will have to get much worse before there will be enough incentive for average citizens to wake up and fight back together.

Unfortunately, I believe that there is, in addition to the continued frustrations of those within OWS, other reasons for the stagnant progress as the one-year anniversary of it’s founding has now come and gone. I went down to Zuccotti park yesterday on the anniversary to talk to people for a few hours, both officers and protesters alike. Those in attendance varied greatly as has always been the case within the movement despite the mainstream media’s wishes to categorize it as involving only those on the ‘fringe’ or ‘without direction’. For, underneath the subtle nuances of each individual’s drive to collectively gather, I believe there is a unanimous desire to remove money from politics and return the power to the people. This is, by no means, the entirety of OWS’ demands or beliefs, but rather, an underlying component of the core disease facing America today of which people too often get caught up in debating the symptoms thereof.

I, as many of you already know, am fundamentally a 9/11 Truth activist. And while the 9/11 Truth Movement has been plagued by misrepresentation and internal division, equivalent to many of the problems facing OWS today, it remains in my mind, paramount to being able to understand the bigger picture of the geopolitical and economic stage. However, despite this clear and transparent truth to anyone who has invested the time in researching both the events of that day and the greater implications of corruption and lies as a result of said events, there remains, both within the current anti-war movements and the OWS movement, a visceral refusal to incorporate the puzzle piece of 9/11 truth and the phoney/deliberate ‘war on terror’, of which 9/11 was the catalyst for, into the equation of what is wrong with America. For, as is often the case with the truth, both the American government is keeping it’s citizens from seeing it, and, far more damaging, our patriotism as American’s is keeping us from believing it. Thus, until the collective will of the people is unsettled to their very core, until those who seek to stand up and fight for justice are informed in full and are able to pull the blindfold’s from their eyes and reveal just how deeply corrupted and nefarious those in power are, the underlying truth will be misdiagnosed in attempting to treat symptoms rather than the disease. The bigger picture of a puzzle, without the right pieces, is as misleading as the lies that have been told to keep us from discovering the truth. Until this changes, nothing significant will change. And while I continue to support OWS, I, and other 9/11 Truth activists understand how much worse it is than even their worst fears. 


Cognitive Dissonance

The avalanche of emotion, conjured by politicians and the media, by way of their countless lies and omissions, has all but buried the average man’s ability to wade through the depths of misinformation, or, think rationally about the direction we as a species are headed. Frankly, it’s starting to scare me. I don’t know how much longer people will be able to live in this world if the true nature of what’s transpiring in it is kept from them, either by the media, or their own foolish desire not to know—to remain ignorant and just not think about it. And that, ultimately, will be what paves the way for further violations of our civil liberties; for greater force, used against our ‘enemies’, both foreign and domestic. It is this compulsion, to ‘save ourselves’ and lie down in the face of oppression, that will, consequently, see us become oppressed, exploited, impoverished and desolate. And, if you think this is an overstatement, if you think the future of the industrialized world is nothing but a bright, sparking technological wonder in which everyman is a God and every God showers man with love and forgiveness despite the hubris of our society, and the blissful naivety that has allowed things to get this bad, then I’m sorry, but you need to wake the fuck up.

The slow creep of extremism from the far right has swallowed the fledgling cries of rational minds—silenced their pleas for progressive causes and legitimate change and, instead, has left them stunned and frozen in the wake of an ever expanding abyss of hatred and fear—alienated and ostracized, as if being a moderate intellectual has suddenly become synonymous with being in a freak show. Journalists are a dying bread. Instead, pundits plunder our hearts and fill our minds with bullshit more fit for tabloids than headlines. It’s suffocating us—it’s pulling the air out of our lungs and the truth out of our hearts. And, now, stranded under the weight of the avalanche we scream for someone to help us, to make it all better and protect us from where we find ourselves. But the truth is, only we can pull ourselves out of the abyss. Only we can stand up and fight for what we’ve taken for granted for so long. And only we can change the world before we’re buried under the weight of it.

As always, I retain some semblance of hope that mankind can recognize the error of its ways before it’s too late and change the course of history. But I am not so hopeful as to believe that we will do so before things grow far worse than they already are. I am not so hopeful as to believe that greed and power will fall broken at the feet of love and equality. They never will, for they never have. And, despite the luxuries we enjoy and the brutal past that we have endeavored to leave behind us, we are no better now than those who have fallen victim to similar fates in the pages of history. We the people are still we the people, just as those who have seen fit to assume power parallel infamous dictatorial figures, using the timeless tactic of emotional avalanche to crush descent and burry their opponents. And while many have managed to miraculously surface from the cold, dark, depths of ignorance and fear that would have seen them buried and forgotten, they, nevertheless, stand on uncertain ground poised to crumble beneath them if they so much as make a sound.