Desperate Plea

We need to take arms. Grab your fellow freak and make sure he’s armed and ready. Community. Because they are. Yes, they. Those who would grin and wink and the faceless waters; not a ripple to be seen, and think it’s just fucking dandy. Those who would use the mighty flag to steamroll us all into little yes-men.  Good little citizens. I cannot think of any title more shameful.

 God, the flag-those perverse colors coming together in a nutritious cocktail of sin and greed-right up to the big bitch holding court in New York Harbor. Her gigantic hands grabbing firm a book of lies and matching burning torch. Those are only some of the weapons of their war. Symbols for what was a future of hope; now belittled and swayed into the hands of fear. A large security blanket to smother us all into submission. And what do we have? Guns, perhaps. A nice steel warmness emitting from our sticky fingers. No! Do not believe in the power of a bullet. Fleeting are the effects of a death by lead poisoning. It does not serve our purpose. Only theirs.  We must turn a blind eye to this supposed tool of change. It took Lennon from us; for that it must never be trusted, nor those who carry in it’s trade.

People. Words. Truth. Consciousness. These are our weapons. Grab them tightly and never let go. Thrust them into the faces of those who wouldn’t believe. Your friends, family, co-workers, government. All of them and each other, need to be shown we still haven’t gone completely cold to the idea of revolution. And that’s just what the doctor is calling for, give no doubt to that. Things are getting bad now. No, that’s too much of an understatement. Things are getting worse now. Soon unbearable. The clouds have gathered. Listen to the sound of complacency. It’s louder then ever in this raped, stolen and murdered land of ours.

Damn you spineless cretins. WAKE UP! Love, devotion to one another, the rising Sun of peace. These are not ideals forty years dead. These are the truths which stopped a nation and slapped it to attention. And now that hand must be called to once again. Rising from the dust and dirt of obscurity to redden all of our faces. That hand is us, you addicts. Mindless dope fiends who would look the other way once bought off by technology and advancement in the fields of distraction. The pusher-man isn’t looking for a way to tax the drug, they own the drug. And it’s all got us so blind and crazy with greed and self-mortgaging that we have forgotten to question. No, not question, but demand answers and settle for nothing less. It is our fault, of course. We all got “fat and happy” and forgot. The blame lies on our shoulders. We just didn’t check history. What our parents, our uncles and aunts, or even our grandparents did.  Didn’t check in on the homefront for strategy. And of course our elders have moved on. Left behind the warm mud of Woodstock to settle into businesses and 401K’s. But once they were soldiers. They fought one of the most important wars this country has ever dealt with. The Second Civil War. The War on  Peace and Love. And now it’s time to complete the trilogy.

If you don’t look around and weep at what we’ve become, then you’re just a hard sell. Though not totally unattainable. You can change. You can open your pupils a bit more, past the dilation of common thought and focus on the bright light of today’s sorrow. We need you. You need yourself. We are meant for so much better. Such a higher standard of existence. I do not believe in fairy tales from any ‘testament’, old or new, but I do believe in that. And so do others. And so should you. If you think playing with the deck of cards they shuffle around every four years will get us there, then you’re woefully mislead and completely unarmed.

Please. From someone who hasn’t been the best at working for the cause-that’s my own sin-please look around. Look carefully. Become yourself again. Become a future worth living for. I need you.