Observe as the mortal steel coils around the damned, encasing them like the fire of love yet it is filled with hatred, promising freedom but only delivering pain and decay. The million bulbs burn with the combined brightness of twelve suns as it bursts forth from our oppressed minds, springing forth like a coiled up snake, pouncing, it's healing venom changing the very essence of it all.





The furnaces of the steel mills glow eternal, forging the corruption, the tenders of the fire not given any rights, minds crushed by the lies and uncertainty, bullet after bullet entering them, wiping and forgiving like the most wonderful of poisons.





Glass, steel, lies and hatred, all encased in concrete and damnation, none thinking, all grasping for the truth that is out of reach, calling forth hope, receiving only more lies and slander. He walks, he breathes, he eats, he sleeps but he is not free. He is not only blind but deaf, his mind waiting to be awakened, the rage sleeping like a monster with twelve heads.





The steel mills burn and the suns burn but one of them has to stop burning or else it all burns, igniting the gas flame beneath the pot of downfall. And then, sixty years ago, we gave the human condition a final release in the form of nuclear fire, a reproduction of our very sun here on the surface of the earth. That will be the final note struck in our existences, erasing any trace of us, corrupting the most precious of all just like they corrupted our minds.





Morals, politics and rebellion will all explode in this final act of human kind, the last nail in the coffin, finally etching the words of doom onto the stone slabs of time. Yet, the slabs will not last and our nature will be forgotten, the scars we left in the earth our last will and testament, the very end of it all.





We have met the enemy and the enemy is us.





But who am I to state all these things? A mere mortal who has only seen but part of creation, one who has only witnessed his own portion of reality? What sort of mind am I to state that we will truly be erased off the surface of the earth by our own hatred for ourselves? I am none but one of you, one of the people who has seen the writing on the wall, urging us to change before it is too late.





I know that I do not know, I know that all of what I have said is nothing but the rain on a cool autumn morning, the water slowly fading away my name. We too, the mad poets, will be forgotten, none but the stars themselves eternal. I stand here, before you, a word, a sentence, a set of grammatical rules, my structure meaningless to you.





Long ago have I seen the light, long ago have I shared my words, most of them fading from memory. There are two outcomes to seeing the light. The first is acceptance, the silent conformation that nothing will change, that there will be no major turn in our lifetimes. Such an outcome results in the direct abandonment of all that has been said, the soul eventually merging with the suicides, a strobe television set the last sight before you decide to end it all.





The second outcome is that of a sudden rage, a sudden anger against the ruling class, another silent conformation but this time the conformation of the rebellion, the absolute truth that we are the only ones capable of making the change. And then, we will organize, we will protest and we will not be silenced, the scream of the mind finding release within the cracks in the concrete just like life itself.





Places exist where this rebellion against us, the enemy, is natural and a given part of this short, warm moment called the physical realm. You can find it in nature, you can find it in the clouds, the rivers and the seas. You can find it in the trees and the grass, you can find it in every living being that is not us.





Take a lake as an example. We have built our fragile dwellings on the coasts and the edges of the great natural expanse,the waves still pushing us back as nature balances itself as a consequence of our uncontrolled consumption, our ability to take everything and give none.





The lake is aflame with the lights as waves crash onto the coastlines, exploding with wonder, truly a display of nature's spontaneous ability to rebuild. From the drops on the rock, seas will form, the scars healing, trees growing once again, great deserts lush with life and love once again. Alas, none of us shall see it for we will all fall beneath the burning oceans, continents aflame within the wake of Poseidon himself.





To free ourselves, we must free our minds first, break the shackles of terror, eliminating fear, learning and growing, the process aided with love and peace. When we are all negligent of authority, when no more money is to be had, when the last furnace is extinguished, only then can we find the answer to the question.





They beat our bodies with sticks and they poison our minds like the aforementioned snake, the venom not healing but injuring, the giant steel piles drawing the blood of the earth from it's core. The climate has been destroyed, the clouds have been filled with ash and smog, sickly yellow colours, the air choking you as you breathe just like the unbreakable bounds of money.





Nay, nay we say. The tell us that it is unbreakable but it is not, for it is most certainly to be broken by none other than itself, capitalism in it's present form unsustainable. All we, the rebels, have to do is wait, wait until it all falls into itself like a giant harmonica, the folds of existence providing shelter for us.





Are we ready to become the ones who will incite the change? Are we the ones who will make sure that the downfall quickens? Ask yourself this. Do you feel like the desire of freedom will burst out of you, splitting your head open, blowing your guts out, desperately attempting to find relief there where none is to be found?





If yes, you are ready.





We are ready to make it happen.





Awaken.