Gluttony, Chico:25, 6006 YD
Face it, America. It’s time to give up the charade. It’s 230 years overdue, anyway. We had a good run of it, and around the end of the 19th Century, it even looked promising. But let’s stop deluding ourselves already. Let’s put away the Norman Rockwells, hang up the cell phone for a minute, and give the Republic five seconds of eulogy time.
We never really wanted this Noble Experiment. There are a few of us, now relegated to lurking in the shadows, only brave enough to show half our faces, and only in the daylight when there’s at least enough of us to overpower the riot police, who are going to miss the trip we started out on 200 years ago. But we’re a minority, and we’re going to be silenced, and nobody is listening anyway.
All I’ll ask from anybody today is to just come out and say it. We all know it anyway, so there’s no point in pretending, America. Just say you’re done with freedom, and liberty. Just say it. You don’t want the freedom to be different. You don’t want freedom of speech, freedom of the press, or freedom of religion. You don’t want the right to a fair trial. You don’t want the writ of Habeas Corpus, or solid education, or protection from unlawful search and seizure.
You want the freedom to agree. You want “Safe Streets” and you want “Guaranteed Futures” and you want everybody to slow down so you’re kid won’t be Left Behind. You want somebody to protect you from the Real World. And to shut anyone up who reminds you about just how bad it can be… Out There. You don’t want to live with danger, you don’t want to live with uncertainty, and you’re scared to death of living with you don’t understand. But life IS danger, uncertainty, and it’s filled with the unknown. So, just face it. You don’t want to live at all.
But, see, you’ve taken your security blanket, and you’ve strangled the Revolution with it. You’ve smothered the life from liberty with your down-filled extra-stuffed pillows. You’d call the Sons of Liberty a “Terrorist Organization” if they were around today. You’d run screaming into the arms of the RedCoats, rather than face an uncertain future with nothing to guide you but a few lofty dreams. You’d prefer death at the hands of a tyrant to the prospect of building a life where you have to make room for somebody else to build theirs. Getting to know your neighbors. Getting to know yourself scares you.
You’re not the America that stood up 230 years ago to shake off its chains and claim Independance and Liberty for itself. You’re not the America that fought with itself to rid its institutions of deeply-seated injustice and slavery. That America is dead. It’s caved in, rotted, and given way completely to the America that expanded westward over the corpses of defenseless women and children; the America that now pukes out empty rhetoric where action should go; the America that entombs itself with meaningless wars of choice. You are patriots of that America; I am a patriot of the Dead Revolution: the America that exists now only as the sweet-smelling perfume dumped over the poisonous lies you gorge yourself with.