The world feels pretty fucked, right?
Its not quite the future i'd planned for; one where I do artistic engineering to make rent, living in a planetary civilization hub of a city.
Instead, we've got rain. Lots of rain. California is so rainy that Oakland is no longer in a drought. Rain and drafty windows and lead in our water. Mass casualties of the War on Terror; one in which we pilliage our common welfare so we can plunder others by means so much worse. Friends subjected to imaginary borders created by the word of men in high castles. Death. Needless death. Preventable death. Our own vaudeville death of a future forever just out of reach.
It is played over and over in my head thanks to the bird-themed Real Time WebSocket Notification Engine Clients of our time. Saturday morning--as has been every morning since his rise--runs with the familiar story: Oh gee golly, what fresh horrors will I read on the fresh horrors device today?
I switched to activism sometime last year and nobody told me. I guess I fell into it. Organizing is my thing. I'm told. I see the evidence of it in all aspects of my life; trinkets and memories of communities I fell in love with and built life-long family. #uakroncs. KDE. SYN/HAK. Noisebridge. East Bay Forward. To name the few.
I know I'm not alone in my work. I see it all around me. Something has changed in millions of people; a revolutionary spirit has caught spark and taken to the streets like fire. The warmth and love of my family drives me forward to seek out a better future for us all. I want to care for them, just as they have cared for me; so it propels my spirit.
My life is coming to another radical turning point. I can feel it. Taste it. Smell it, and hear its drums.
The beat of a whole world, just up ahead.