Cross My Heart and Hope to Write
INCLUDING ORIGINAL POETRY, SHORT STORIES, ESSAYS, AND NOVELLAS, ALONGSIDE ARTWORK AND PHOTOGRAPHY
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Thursday, August 1, 2013
Enough Is Enough: The Gates
This is a call to arms.
There are dubious activities taking place right beneath our noses. Now is critical; this time and place in history is imperative. The globalized world, with technology that allows for nearly infinite knowledge (a digitized Library of Alexandria), is somehow no less ignorant. Humanity as a whole is richer than ever before, and yet the majority still starve and the minority revel in ever more lavish absurdity. All hail to the almighty dollar!
We can’t go green because there’s not enough green to go around. The democracy of American was founded on the belief that wealth is a deserved possession of all, and yet we live amidst a world where some hoard while others scrounge. The middle class is shrinking as the people with the money get power, manipulating us - even the information we are exposed to - into a false sense of control. Freedom isn’t free.
Politics offer no solace. The common man is too busy bearing the weight of others’ revelry to organize. A unique population of people need to be the ones to change the world: Artists. Musicians, philosophers, painters, logicians, poets, bards, writers, actors, and even scientists need to band together and take back morality, take back the bastardized ethics of the modern world. Why artists? Because we transcend the hustle and bustle, the ho-humness of modernity. The desire to create is one of good, of love, of aesthetic beauty, and our craft is more important than the fickleness of wealth and the bribery of monotony. We have to be the ones to fix this.
This is a call to arms for artists and the infinite strength of their creations: FIGHT!!!
Bight my finger and chew on my soul
Determined to toss my bones in the hole
Better save your money up
Because there’s gonna be Hell to pay
When I spit fire
And rise from my grave
Maggots in my eyes and dirt under my nails
With dusty black lungs, quick to inhale
You can push the barrel deep into my temple
Blow my mind out the other side
It means so much to be nothing at all
Because I broke the mold when I dropped the ball
I was the first to scream “FUCK YOU" in the face of dismay
I was the last to breath life into all the decay