“The world goes crazy every three or four decades. The trick is to survive until it goes sane.” – Octavia Butler; Parable of the Sower
The world has gone mad for better or for worse. Reality and propaganda intertwine. Forests burn with turpentine flamed by the rage of the city streets, spelling injustice on boarded buildings for the unforgiving burden of their ancestors. They decapitated stones of their oppressors, scouring aristocrats’ crumbs for dinner, crying reform to bucolic bureaucrats. Failures are measured in fatalities. Engraved in their epitaphs: “error code: 45”.
Four horsemen ride miles down the road away from those watching on balconies in a moment of stillness and red wine. Escaping the stomps of a heavy-footed upstairs neighbor and the symphony of disorders downstairs. Anticipating anarchy, manifesting maliciousness. Sweating through sheets of unrest in a paper-thin cubicle overlooking the apocalypse.
And crowds emerge from the shadows of the Statue of Liberty. Those deemed essential: the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. Exhaling through coffee filters and old scarves. Walking through the shards of glass ceilings. Dodging rubber bullets as the sky falls simultaneously. Protesting acquiescence. Declaring indifference is the opposition. Searching for silver linings amongst smokescreens. To rise from the ashes, a phoenix must first burn.
Instilled by the morals of Saturday morning cartoons, good always triumphs over evil. Whether you fight or flounder, it will not be in vain. The weight of the world is a heavy load to carry alone. To reach new land together with newfound respect. Through scorched soil with blisters and sore feet, through the abandoned highways of Ventura County, turned into deserts through desolate ravines. To cast on new ground, sow new seed on new soil, to a future built by those with a desire to build it.