Bottle Rockets & Sleeping Pills #1 – Deprivation Nation

Scarred fingers tap away at plastic keys, yellowed from too many hand rolled cigarettes, hands shaking from some unknown malady.  The clock on the laptop reads 9:45 PM, though it is much later.  Perhaps somewhere it’s 9:45, somewhere distant, away from this prison of Freedom.  The words don’t come easily; the writer steps carefully in the mine field that he laid himself.  It’s a strange world to be sure.  Reality never seems to come through when you truly need it, and sobriety rarely ever occurs when it could be helpful.  Sleep deprivation is a hard drug set apart for those who prefer to push themselves onward, despite what the body or mind have to say about it.  The sheer willpower exerted in this endeavor is akin to that which God must have to hold back a booming laugh whenever ‘He’ glances in on the ant farm that is Earth.  What a joke it must seem for so many to search for ‘The Meaning’ when The Search itself is closer to the answer than most will ever guess.

What shred of self deceit would humanity strip of itself if it could?  Would we honestly stop lying to ourselves, day after day, hour after hour, second after creeping second?  The answer is ‘No’.  No, we need the lies.  It helps fuel our hope, and as you know, hope is in short supply these days.  Our memories and hope is all we truly possess.  Memories are susceptible to Alzheimer’s and Hope… Hope died with our innocence as we sold our souls to the Beast that is the American Government.  Don’t get me wrong, we LET them put us in this cage, let them lead us into complacence and docility, even cheered as they made new ways to invade our lives, denying us of the very rights that this country was founded upon.  We’re the fetid waste that oozed from the asshole of hypocrisy.  A misfit generation with dreams too large to voice, morals so crooked that they spiral, and a cold fire burning in our black hearts.  We will inherit the world.  It’s a scary thought.

The stench of broken promises and raped trust fills the air, a sickly sweet aroma of progress in the footsteps of Predestination, tossing silver coins to the masses for the betrayal of all that we were offered.  We became as shades, shadows of what we once were.  The shell meaning far less than the value of the vote and the nine numbers of our social security.  We continue to pay for our slavery to the Federal Reserve, selling ourselves short and thanking them for every over priced penny that gets thrown in our filthy outstretched hands.  I once read that it costs 1.6 cents to make a penny.  Most of that goes back to the Federal Reserve to pay for our bondage.  If only it were so simple as cutting off the head of the Beast.  America is the hydra of legend, though this beast grows more heads regardless of whether or not you cut one off.  Much like I.G. Farben, the German dye company that made Zyklon B during World War II, America was split up into several smaller, easier to manage, locals, which in turn were bought up by the larger of them.  And much like the Nazi company I.G. Farben, America is slowly creeping back together into the shape of the soon to be ‘North American Union’.  For those that have not heard of the North American Union, the borders of Mexico and Canada are to be removed, forming a single massive organism, but instead of the Dollar pumping in its bloodstream, a new currency dubbed the Amero will come into play.  Geo-Politics should be taught in elementary schools, prepare the little bastards for just how evil the world is going to get.  They’re probably not going to get a second chance after all.

For New Years, I’d love to see one thing.  I’d give both of my little fingers and toes just to see it happen.  Make a fist with your right or left hand and throw it in the air.  The call for Revolution is echoing.  Listen.  Your country Needs YOU.  Uncle Sam be damned and fuck the President, this is about YOU.  One man cannot change the course of this sinking shit heap of a ship, but together, the crew can save the majority.  So throw your hands in the air, give your best battle cry, put on some steel toed boots and a thinking cap and get in the groove.  There’s a beating drum in the heart of this nation…  You can hear it if you listen…  The American Dream died long ago when the Beast was awakened by the greed and corruption, but it can be put to sleep.  Think for yourself, question everyone and everything even yourself.  And most important of all, don’t be afraid to stand for what you believe in, if you even believe in anything anymore.

The clock on the laptop reads 10:26 PM.  It means nothing to me in this drowsy state, but it stands for an idea.  No matter if my clock is wrong for where I AM, it is right for someone, somewhere, and with that little bit of optimism…  I bid you all a good night.

Now fuck off and go to bed.

Regards,
Che$hire

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~ by binarycheshire on January 7, 2008.

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