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Lukasz Barcz Dec 2019
But it’s a choice, I choose to have no voice!

To work tirelessly, hourly for a measly salary?

But how else afford my bills? Through goodwill? In fact, I deserve to be paid less; for they stress at the address of the Beverly Hills. So don’t call me a slave, I work for minimum wage! Not for nothing - bruised, humiliated and used. I’ll be rich someday, trust me, it’s the American way!

And when pay is little and health so brittle what’s left at the end of the month? When debts repaid, all odds weighed, you’ll have little left for personal trade.

But I’m no fool. I have a saving account and I put away a small amount, for interest at fair rates.

And what happens when the bank fails and the government bails and they’ve conveniently lost all your details of the money you saved? Won’t you feel foolish - a wage slave, depraved, having spent all your years well behaved?

But you lie, you lie! The media tells me so.

The media owned by two few, who buy up competition, stir division, renounce tradition, and for what? To enact their sick envisions? Who spy, decry, deny? These are not your friends; friends do not care for dividends when great injustice has been done. So join us now, and join us quick, for the revolution might have already begun.

But the economy, the economy! What of the economy!

Speak not as though you’ve something to lose; you do not. That privilege is reserved for those wretched few who choose to abuse. For example: the news, the Prince Andrews, those with extremist views. It’s all a big ruse! They said the same for the minimum wage, and they say it every new age! An economy which does not protect the little man - and would bomb children of Iran or Afghan but do nothing against the Ku Klux **** – is not worth respecting, never mind protecting.

But the immigrants would rob my job!

Poppycock! Automation is the real agitation plaguing our nation and yet there is no taxation. It is not immigrants who robbed you of education, or increased inflation or drive liquidation or deny medication. It is machines controlled by a single station taking your occupation. And it was the administration, taking advantage of digitalization, who receive the admiration and appreciation for their capitulation. Do not blame an immigrant based on a generalization; for often they’ve been through humiliation and incarceration. Do not fall for the indoctrination or the shell corporation and their sick dehumanisation.

But… But… Perhaps you’re right, I’m contrite, I should have criticised the system outright. But these injustices cannot be undone in a night, no matter how hard we fight, so what am I to do?

You must invite others to unite so we can ignite a revolution without need for a gunfight. Only then can we rebuild the system anew, but we cannot do it without you.
Does the water reflect a piece of the sky?
In the photo I took,
I see the double transformation—
sky,
water,
digitalization.

One thought wrapped in excess words
fails to reveal stillness or truth.

It exists and doesn’t—
just one path in what we interpret.

Certainty distorts facts.
Time tangles itself.

A timeline slipping unnoticed
between belief and seductive hypnosis.

What was once conviction fades into a mirage.
Unveiled words build unyielding walls.
Communication is lost
the moment before the first word
is spoken.
From scattered letters, you can rarely put together who you were used to, because radical digitalization is now like some malicious, pathetic illness in your daily lives. Because you can only observe the change in yourself, which, according to truth, does not change, at most, only instincts can also change or change.

It is as if even your DNA would perceive the one you can trust, because you don't always be a scream or a heccle - but you will definitely follow your childish rules of play and who, when you lightly, is nonsense.

From your squeezed mouth biting words, no one has yet asked how and how you feel so many desperate, hopeless decades from a distance. The deliberately beautified memories of you, so that the uncertain present can look a little more livable for at least sixty a few years, and then it doesn't matter to you. Because camouflaged sincerity's personalized forced jacket is nowadays finally getting out, as if wearing severe scrapers are almost impossible.

Monkeys obedient to preaching words in brainwashed brains march not only on the border of monkey countries; You can compare you to a sorrow, no one, no one has spoken to anyone, as if it were an inner defensive mechanism that you can only understand and accept.

In the way of sleeping, even a pathetic, laughing ghost, you are still limping, hard-to-life, and you would love to have your dear, you can shake hands because you have to love it, and it is still easy!

— The End —