Collective power.

Psychopathy.

And the monsters they make to serve them.

At no time in Earth history was this NOt rooted in our woe.

I mean ...if you can illustrate otherwise, PLEase do.

🤔

So, if we know this is what culminates...then ...

-------- Complicity IS our only option? (A or B)

". . . the pain and the shame of surrender

These are strange uncertain days..."

(& the beat goes on...)

🌊

Seems to me we've talked this all out before (some of you with far more due diligence and eloquence). We keep circling back around don't we? Some of the names have changed. Only SOMe of the names. Some technical advances in the ways and means. Perhaps ever circling closer to the heart of the matter?

Some ten years or so ago I wrote a poem about a grandmother gently removing her granddaughter's ravaged body from the bombed out rubble. Grade school aged. 1st in her class. So young to be so kind and fascinated by life. Having already begun to journalize. All that her grandma would have remaining besides memories. What of her mother, her father? Devastating woe turned to what? Perpetual mourning? Forgiveness? Rage? Vengeance? 

Today Reg touched on another in a long history of stories much like this one.

When is enough enough? By what means? A? B? C? Do we have [among us] a way? OR is that too, um,  unsophisticated a notion? In conflict with the construct?