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Feb 2017
We don’t own as much as we used to; some of us wonder if we ever will again. Feeling bewildered and helpless is the new normal. We wait and watch, as all those clumsy, stubborn, beautiful ideas withering away on the vine; day in, day out. We all just want it to end, and soon.

A murmur. A rumbling. It’s moments like these where anything is possible. Hope lies, waiting, even in these days of utter and complete denial.

So, we’re calling an end to this “State of Affairs”. We’re calling an end to fear and paranoia and self-intimidation. We sick of those sitting in the chairs, watching the world spin, as if things weren’t happening. We’re done waiting.

We’d like to dedicate this to the desperate and the forgotten and the broken. This for the waitresses, the junkies, and the carpenters. The secretaries and schizophrenics and alcoholics. Those living behind enemy lines. Those who bring the war home with them. This isn’t for company men; men with families and a health-plan and a hybrid car they just “can’t risk losing”. You can’t trust a man whose welfare is just another cog, embedded into the belly of that same horrible machinery. No such man has ever lost himself in revolution. It just isn’t done.

This is for the memory of an empire, created and destroyed. Its base was built on traditions we no longer need, and values we no longer possess.
This is about those who’ve abandoned thoughts of hope and love, thoughts they so justly deserve.

Despite all this, the future remains the same as it ever was. Bleak, uncertain, magnificent. For all we know, we may be arrested tomorrow.

But we are here, now, so hear me: This is the end of whispered dissidence. This is the death of stagnation and dissonance and all that empty space. Listen close. We’ll not hesitate to sink the ship and **** the Captain.

This is for the hearts who’ve kept beating. Know that we never stopped listening. We're coming, and we're bringing change with us. This is for you. Try to be free. Don’t be afraid. I have seen the future, and I have seen better days. No matter what ‘they’ say, the end of the world will never come.

They stumble in their exaltation, rejoicing. They’ve stolen the crown. Praise be. As if that’s all that ever made a King.
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