I'm not naive nor mad nor innocent

 I'm not naive nor mad nor innocent but I do know one thing, Change is hard to come by. It's far easier to think we can change everybody else who we think needs to change rather than think we are the ones who need to change. 'We think' is the very reason for the problems we all have, in our personal, our community, and political life. Over the decades and centuries, we've all been thrown together into a pit, governed by the exciting prospect of one day climbing free, or believing promises of getting freedom but not being free of them. But there is no more freedom right where you're standing than there is over the mountain, over the sea. We see freedom in the way we dress, the way we are colored, the way we walk, talk, and fuck. But no matter where we are, there are still toes we better not step on, or people we cannot cross but, in a way, that's all right, isn't it?

Freedom is chaos so we try to put restraints on it, mostly for everybody else. Where are the red lines we must not cross? Are they the ten commandments or the Bill of Rights? Is killing someone the same as coveting thy neighbor's wife? Is establishing a fascist government through the conventions of democracy the same as the violent overthrow of an established order? Are the rights of individuals the same as the rights of the social contract?

Defanged and declawed, a morality mired in self-indulgence, greed, and whether or not it's all right to compensate our shortcomings with violence, we are more like caged animals in the middle of an open-air prison.

When "god" created us, we were already ready for the slaughter, defanged, declawed, just had our wits and violent nature. we cannot tear our food nor catch our prey by claw but our genius is unlimited. It is time for retribution, recompensation, restitution but the evolutionary vault is empty, robbed many times over while we stood around like cows chewing their cud, regurgitating laws, standards, traditions, and punishments.

all my memories are attached to somebody, someplace and when that somebody dies or someplace disappears, that memory is like an electric spark generating a nostalgic sadness i can do nothing about, only can i cherish for only the moment until its gone, like remnants of a dream upon awakening. Once awake, i can no longer return.

Listening to Buffy St Marie's My Country Tis of Thee. She may be a fake Indian or, is it, fake Canadian but she got it right from her heart, which is the only place that matters.

Another warning. Get together and stick around with the ones you want to die with.