Mangione On My Mind
I heard the people, felt their rage, and I raged with them.
I laughed when the people laughed. But then I looked at my daughter, smiling as she plucked another chocolate from her advent calendar, and I felt sadness.
I laughed at the memes, but then I looked at my son, smiling as he shook boxes under the Christmas tree, and I felt sadness.
I'll be home for Christmas. Neither of these men will be.
I hoped, as the people hoped, that the perpetrator wouldn't be caught. And how much easier it would have been had he dissipated as a phantom; a terror in the darkness, striking fear. More a manifestation of an idea than a man. Instead, we are left with Batman with the bourgeois backpack. A rich boy eating another rich boy while we, those without the means, play out our vengeful fantasies with fiction and yell loudly from digital pulpits built from our impotence.
Most revolutions are borne of class inequality, and injustice rather than country, or patriotism.
Thousands of years of measured time and mankind still clings to violence to enact change; a propensity embedded in our DNA. And even then, the outcomes of revolutions are temporary. Are we the profiteers or the collateral damage? How many heads of a hydra must we sever? Show me a dagger to its heart.
My children, my marriage, my mortgage, and my medical bills in exchange for a manifesto; a Pyrrhic victory?
No. I am a slave to survival, a robot to responsibility. Like you, no different, I graze on grass and howl like a wolf.
I laugh, I smile, and I feel sadness.
~ purplemonkeysexgod @purplemonkeysexgod69