Regarding the “injustice inherent in the system”, there is much hyperbole from students who ache to be involved in something more than the contrived lives of reality television. Few of them have experienced any real injustice that has not been instigated by themselves, e.g. by spitting in the face of a 9-5 cop with no more culpability in the state of the state than a 9-5 cashier. Not that such an act is “wrong” per se. It’s a … natural … emotional … response. Rather, it’s playing a role in this damned stage-play we call life.
Unkempt but attractive youth holding a sign painted with an Intarwebs slogan are “good”.
Oldish father-figure scowling mustachioed men in a uniform are “evil”.
So, you’re playing your parts. Anonymous is playing its part, but they’re still just kids. Angry kids. Well-intentioned kids. But … kids.
We’re all kids. We’ve not felt the pleasure and pain of adulthood. We’re denied that today. We don’t work until we marry then work until we die. We no longer follow the simple cycle of a century ago. We’re a society of leisure– even those of us whose muscles or minds are tired to exhaustion when the school– when the work day ends.
I’m not a black man beaten over the head for drinking water two meters south of where I was designated to do so.
I’m not a slave who fought from the arena to the gates of Rome– to days of death hanging on the Appian Way.
… and I’m sure as fuck no Guy Fawkes.
But, really, what did any of them accomplish?
Was anything learned from the lessons they taught? V For Vendetta is a rousing good film– inspiring while one suspends their disbelief in the redemption of mankind. But how does it end? A crowd removing their masks under fireworks over Tchaikovsky. What is the next scene, the one that plays out under the upbeat roar of The Rolling Stones during the end credits?
- They are, all of them, gunned down. The media covers it up.
- They back down, and go home, and replace Fawkes with their usual masks.
Nobody wins.
No more than when Fawkes was hanged and posthumously drawn-and-quartered. Indeed– the only lesson learned was that we are to OBEY.
I’m not a hero.
I’m not a martyr.
I’m a father.
The state took my daughters from me, at the ridiculously flimsy request of their mother.
There was no violence.
Anyone with an order of “protection” against him is assumed to be a wife-beater or child-molester by all but those who’ve had an order of “protection” against them.
I don’t have the will to write much more. Suffice it to say that the state is corrupt. The “state” as in the government, and the “state” as in the current condition we, humanity, find ourselves inhabiting.
I am not a hero.
I am not a martyr.
I am a father.
I have felt the sting of the whip of the state.
If you ever feel that same blunt, draining “sting”, then, perhaps, you will understand why “terrorists” do what they do.
Where there is no law, or when the law is unjust, one has no recourse to the law, and ones only recourse is, by definition– lawless.
I am advocating no such thing, because, as I have said…
It would make no difference.
The true criminals, the truly evil, are those who bring more lives into this world.
Man cannot be “good” on a global scale, and men cannot survive on a local scale.
We are doomed as a species.
Not to die, but to act our parts in a play as poorly executed as the dream of a drunkard.
Ah, I’d forgotten the title. If I were to be any more explicit in this post, I would be arrested.
That is not an exaggeration.
I’ve spoke “wrong” before (in a drunken post to Facebook) and my “wife”, the “mother” of my children, initiated an unfortunate series of events that had me committed to the local snake pit– emerging just late enough to miss the trial at the end of the initial seven-day order of “protection” against me, causing me to miss my chance to contest it, causing (by my wife stating that I “blew off” the appearance) the 9-to-5 judge to consider me as not caring whether or not I see my daughters again, and causing me to be kept from my daughters (save for two hours a week at $50) for over a year now.
I was put in jail for leaving flowers at her door– an incredibly stupid gesture of appreciation for her allowing the privilege of my paying to see my daughters.
Daughters who need their father.
She’s hurting them more than she is me. And, even by my barely-emotional standards, she’s hurting me a goddamned lot. So, she must be downright torturing our beautiful girls by keeping them from their father. Yet, she is, titularly, legally, the “mother”, and, to the state, it is the mother that decides the fate of “her” children.
That’s enough.
Whenever any of us loses against the justice that isn’t, we all lose.
My daughters have lost.
I’ve lost.
We’ve all lost.
Game over.
You see, “justice” is a fairy tale, a fiction– the mirror of the monster tales told to control children.
Justice, it is a fable.
A fiction, as purposefully unreal as the loving protector “God”.
It does not exist.
If you are to have any justice,
you must make it yourself,
and necessarily die.