Verily, I

“If you don't read the newspaper, you're uninformed. If you read the newspaper, you're misinformed.”  #MarkTwain 

It has come to my awareness that I am a sentient being, in all its wonder, glory on the surface world of light and memory and existence, all things being equal would mean all things are the same, when we all know that's not even true in the mirror half the time.

I'm sorry I haven't been posting a lot, I've been off world. 

So let's get thru the indigestible part. Being outside half the radius of the galaxy, in the podunk outreaches, altho less likely than at its center, there's no doubt in my mind that you've met a psychic, time traveler, extraterrestrial, remote controlled exploration clone, standard clone, humanoid in a human suit, or any combination thereof. It's not that hard to imagine, they see the errors of our ways and either excuse them from familiarity as a universal constant of sentient life, and/or, laff their collective asses clean off. 

I do the same, from time to time. 

This humane revelation becomes me, but there's always that notion of conformity to the evolutionary participle, the survival mode that in our species' early stages or our potential shared by the sentient around the known universe, here and there, to improve the situation beyond the scope of improvisation and into capability. 

By this I mean the wandering idiots. 

I speak of the people who still speak for others and have no thoughts of their own. I would say do not listen to 'this' or 'that' and you would, perhaps even in anger, taking time to defend the source, they couldn't be wrong in your empty mind, the change from talking to me scares you, or the chance of being wrong confuses you to anger. 

When I was your age.

Those who speak without improving silence, defending lies in good faith, even if I give no fucks that day, infect others that would cross my path, my very essence devoted to a sacrosanct expectation that explanation of fact isn't required, and I'd even go as far to say, I share this with you now, not of my opinion, nor my society, but my planet you threaten with heavy lies. 

The unlikely beginnings of individualism.

It all begins with somewhere a dilettante, a person famous for being famous, an expert renowned only for being known as an expert, decides to swindle thru life, then when that warmth dies they sacrifice an unwavering moral principle to the proverbial fire to stay warm. If there isn't a problem, they make one. A news outlet reporting on riots they began, the self-liberalized protester banging on the table hoping for Uncle Sam to uneasily make them stop to prove that uneasy things happen, has proven that poverty is the great equalizers, idiots love poverty, and liars love idiots. 

Going too far with 'the message'. 

I mean, when you protest the heroes, it makes no sense, and I want it to stop. I get so confused, some countries have a plethora of political castes that share interests with simpler systems, and in 'the states' it seems that even the two party system has the same goals, but without generalizing one side or the other, i don't even have-to really, the correction escapes everyone because of the terminology and the flaws go unnoticed because of the idea that there is another side to things. There are no sides anymore. You're on a planet. One, lame, planet. An island in the stars. With no amount of certainty I can say someone is going to take what you take, or don't take (seems more accurate), for granted. Everyone deserves a chance to help, if you refuse to help, then let the truth fade away while reality bites you in the lazy ass. The vents are open and i'm closing them, but I just want all to know, one of the few things I can promise in this universe, if you go looking for an enemy, you're gonna find one.

Si me buscas, me encuentras. 

~mjbanks

Misappropriated Requisition

A political cartoon, a warrior of the times guarding the chalk outline where someone once rested, holding a sign that reads "private property".

I had no choice to respond to this with equal force, to imagine things the right way instead of the errors of reality, or simulation of imagination.

There are all the dreams of humanity, the combinations of obligations, facetiousness, and consideration, all of which are subject to a reigning future.

While the admittance to powerlessness, a river of raindrops and temporary peace, despite opportunity to forget there are some who remember to persevere, into independence, into complicity.

To error is the way of forgetfulness, comparative to crimes of the self, that is to say that we cannot be contrived, but in the manner one endangered animal in a specialized refuge can, for perhaps, become fifty-thousand apex animals, which new arrangements much be made, how wonderful this thought is that entire planets, if not entire galaxies, could be creations in order to let humanity do what it finds natural.

That someone could think that space guarded by the living is not theirs is not inaction, it is activity to avoid a bad feeling, to change for but the sake.

I fear it is a sick many of minds that release the dead like captured pieces no longer exploitable, this is true in unnecessary detested plagues, these are the trivialities of the manipulated truths.

The creationist makes their creations, and the revolutionists continue to misunderstand, without cause to learn the truth of the momentum, which one can block if possible as many can if available it seems, but not understanding ownership a delusion acts in their stead.

If is not property, how can it be taken; if believed that property is wrong, then how are amenities confiscated under confiscation; if property is communal, how is a political body a requirement?

There are clear mistakes alongside trepidation of leadership, those that sign themselves to service and those that assign themselves to charity, these are the many things that fight to control a line that isn't there.

The dependency on dependents, a state requires people that require a state, a redundancy of speculation surrounded by its own gravity, a people require certainties, where the universe does not cease outside of the vacuum.

I cannot follow if I cannot lead, screaming for a challenger, were I to take league with weakness I would make agency of theft, not stronger than the meek, not weaker than my false desires, and soon to insanity I could redirect what I cannot see nor imagine while being blind to the world.

To more the merrier whom can make peace like the sunlight, to surety that less have contributed more than others, while sounding as the fray are oft to do, which hidden in their individualism as a collectivist, find it hard to allow property if they themselves are not property of a collective.

It is not a collective because we begin at different moments in time, as often a pool of blood spills from a single wound, humanity spills across time from its end to beginning, even perhaps in reverse, a gathering of the deathless and the truth of the living.

Al hambre de siete dias, no hay pan duro.

~ proverbio español