The Patient and the Subversive

The miraculous rivalry that keeps us in check. Fuels our saviours and brings us to peace with ourselves. To stand against and take back the stolen for others' benefit requires identification with the struggle. Subjectified into revolution, rebellion and the invention of peace. Oh, such a long drawn out process only fit for the patient and the subversive. In the meantime, they teach by example. Fretting the wind to make beautiful noises that reminds of an earth that we knew. There are people who have never seen a tree. In their fatal darkened mistake, those who still know the trees will fair the best as long as there are plants. Sustainability in practice and action and it strengthens our struggle's resources. Hunger is no longer the punishment for poverty. "You don't own the food anymore, we don't need you: go away..." The imaginary lines were still drawn. Divided, conquered, imprisoned and enslaved to an ignoble foe set on hellbent destruction.
The populous trapped in a state of disillusioned fear and apathy that keeps them tied to the grindstone. In a moment or so they will all be weeping for reasons yet to be told. Their blinking eyes shake at the sense of their potential freedom. Wrapped in distance of memory past they wonder if the behemoth will set them free before something else does. Faced with such a grand decision, they will either decide it will, it won't or "fuck the behemoth! We're taking back our freedom!" Now that the clouds are a blacker grey and rain eats our skins, popularity for the latter is growing, rising. People are losing their faith and their minds and this means they need new things to believe in. New things. But the new things are really just recycled old things that we realize as the foe forces us to believe them. The strongest believers are often the new ones, at least at the moment. Flag burners, ya bastas and rioters: just stunts to prove themselves? Backlash, paranoia, bad press and they raise the stakes and surveillance.
Fight of flight used to be the answer. Now the only flight left to use is by plane. So, in this creative rebellion we must not always avoid the use of the master's tools. But the master's tools don't share very well so they punish the use of their tools, although often with more chains.
In chains and cages, however guilded, the instinct is to escape. Confinement by force or finance is not an option that usually warrants survival. Even the fittest get caught but the bars are only as strong as the doubt that you can break them. So curious as to where freedom might lead and the insistent thought that it will be good. Alas, if you break the bars, they will hit you harder, chase you faster and watch you closer. Thus, the struggle remains in the hands of the patient and the subversive. Sneaking up from behind and meticulously dismantling the foe piece by piece.
The raging stench of humanity, vanity, aimless, apathetic eyes. The mystery of knowing: pale winds in an otherwise unforsaken drought of thought and hope. Perils of merciless waste we made to try to save ourselves. We made it and now it is ours, our problem. Through blank dull gazes we justify the situation by saying we had to--lies that will deal the fatal blow and we're gone: dust in the undying shadows of doubt.