One Day at a Time Maybe tomorrow will be a normal day.
Maybe, just maybe, it will be a good day.

Maybe, tomorrow will be the beginning of the revolution.
That is the maybe I can't get used to thinking about. I'd rather... not think about it.

Will we get to that point? Will we have to take up makeshift weapons when our peace placards won't do the job any more?

When does the other shoe drop? Which peace protest will I be at when the teargas flies? Which peace vigil will be the one that I feel a billy club crack my skull, and before I black out feel something warm run down my shoulders?

I have never wanted to go back in time more than I do right now. Ten years... when I had just moved back to Chicago. Fifteen years...when I lived in Indiana. Twenty years... 1987 - a much simpler time, compared to now. I want to go back to then. I wasn't paid well then, I didn't feel well then, but I didn't fear like this then.

When my house was broken into, nothing was stolen. Now I worry - what was left behind? I haven't found bugging devices, but where and how would I look? How many tracking systems are on my computer to note every word I type, every word I say into the mic, every video I watch?

What do the powers that be have in store for us? We, the people; we, the useless eaters; we, the cannon fodder. We mean nothing to them. We are in their way. We are too loud. We make too much trouble. We are inconvenient.

We are the inconvenient truth.  ¶ 9:08 PM 0 Comments