I, for one, normally, do not like to talk politics. Says everyone of at least some sound mind. And possibly of body. But we all have that urge. That sudden guttural urge to say something. To assume an entire nation is just like us. North. South. East. West. But it’s not the same. Never was the same. It’s always been different. Quite different. Not only in geography. But by people. Ways and means and trades and what cultures settled where upon arrival and what native nations perished under the covers of Fort Pitt blankets.
But now we speak of walls. Military as walls. Or walls as metaphors. Walls as walls. Walls are just walls. To keep out. Ideas. People. Innovation. The world is getting smaller. Each day. It is getting smaller by the second. No trade embargo. No trade war. No nothing will stop the inevitability of the shrinking earth. It’s a Small World Afterall is not no coincidence. It’s truth. In numbers. We’re getting too big. We’re getting too small. Too smallminded in this wide world web stretching beyond earth and to the moon. To mars. To outside space. We’re getting too small. Walls can no longer hold us in. We are becoming nationless. The world wide web. A generation of nationless beings. Belonging to the nation of mankind. Stretching the ideas of government and what government should be and is and will be. Cities are cites like how cities have always been cities. Paris. London. New York. Hong Kong. It’s all the same. Filled with nationless beings striving for money. Not nationalism. Hiding their money in the countries that tax them the least. Nations that turn a blind eye. Which enhances the idea of nationlessness to the masses, even if subconsciously. No nation. I’ve never left this nation, but I don’t have to. I’ve seen the world. I’ve read the world over, three times, it seems, sometimes. I know a billion things about a million things, but, perhaps, I don’t know one thing fully, truly. Truly. When one seems so small. Feels so small. Is so small that it is almost inevitable to do nothing. Say nothing. Stand back and just watch it all unfold on the six o’clock news. Or the news streaming on your laptop or your phone as you’re taking a dump or listening to a podcast or riding shoulder to shoulder down the crowded outdated creaky leaky subway tube.
It could be anything. Or anywhere. Or nothing at all. But we all feel it. The nothingness. Some of us fight it. The nothingness. The Great Nothingness. Make America Nothing Again. Some of us demonstrate. Some huff Sir Marks-A-Lot markers while labeling signs with our utmost witty political and social jargon edited down for meme-ability on their nothingness marches. For one of your friends, or, god-willing, a stranger to take a snap and to post your little witty saying all over the nationless world wide web for all to see who happen be seeking this sort of thing out. Some perpetually post news on the facebook. Fake news. Real news. Any news. People post their little hearts out. Contributing their own little slice to the nothingness. Some people will stand on a streetcorner or walk up and down subway cars and preach the good word to you. Or the bad word. And what makes this man or woman any different than the others? All are doing nothing while appearing to be doing something. Marching is just marching. ‘Power in numbers,’ they say. But all it ever boils down to is if the thing was covered by media outlets on a Saturday afternoon for old people to watch on the television. Or for millennials to stream illegally or legally over their phones and tablets and whathaveyous.
And it all doesn’t really matter. Or does it? It doesn’t seem to. Or, at least, it seems no one really truly cares. To change it all. A march is a march is a march is a march. It’s just a march. It’s just shouting into the nothingness cannon of facebookary. It’s all time consuming and thought-provoking and it all amounts to nothing. No action. Just saying. Putting it out there. Almost as if putting it out there for someone else to do. Hoping for someone else to actually do something for you to then get behind and support. To post and to march and to support this person or thing from an armchair. But no one is doing anything. We’re all just sitting back. Sitting here. Reading recycled news stories of histories past. Histories repeating. Projecting thought. Wasting thought on what could be next. What should be next. But never taking the steps that take us there. Take all of us, collectively, there.
So, is this a call to action? Is this a call to all of us nationless men and women to finally stand up and march. Actually march and not stop marching forward until the change we deserve as humans—the freedom we deserve by Constitutional Right—or is this just another endless tireless nothingless rant upon the Great American Discontentment that filled the gaping hole of the once Great American Dream.
But now we speak of walls. Military as walls. Or walls as metaphors. Walls as walls. Walls are just walls. To keep out. Ideas. People. Innovation. The world is getting smaller. Each day. It is getting smaller by the second. No trade embargo. No trade war. No nothing will stop the inevitability of the shrinking earth. It’s a Small World Afterall is not no coincidence. It’s truth. In numbers. We’re getting too big. We’re getting too small. Too smallminded in this wide world web stretching beyond earth and to the moon. To mars. To outside space. We’re getting too small. Walls can no longer hold us in. We are becoming nationless. The world wide web. A generation of nationless beings. Belonging to the nation of mankind. Stretching the ideas of government and what government should be and is and will be. Cities are cites like how cities have always been cities. Paris. London. New York. Hong Kong. It’s all the same. Filled with nationless beings striving for money. Not nationalism. Hiding their money in the countries that tax them the least. Nations that turn a blind eye. Which enhances the idea of nationlessness to the masses, even if subconsciously. No nation. I’ve never left this nation, but I don’t have to. I’ve seen the world. I’ve read the world over, three times, it seems, sometimes. I know a billion things about a million things, but, perhaps, I don’t know one thing fully, truly. Truly. When one seems so small. Feels so small. Is so small that it is almost inevitable to do nothing. Say nothing. Stand back and just watch it all unfold on the six o’clock news. Or the news streaming on your laptop or your phone as you’re taking a dump or listening to a podcast or riding shoulder to shoulder down the crowded outdated creaky leaky subway tube.
It could be anything. Or anywhere. Or nothing at all. But we all feel it. The nothingness. Some of us fight it. The nothingness. The Great Nothingness. Make America Nothing Again. Some of us demonstrate. Some huff Sir Marks-A-Lot markers while labeling signs with our utmost witty political and social jargon edited down for meme-ability on their nothingness marches. For one of your friends, or, god-willing, a stranger to take a snap and to post your little witty saying all over the nationless world wide web for all to see who happen be seeking this sort of thing out. Some perpetually post news on the facebook. Fake news. Real news. Any news. People post their little hearts out. Contributing their own little slice to the nothingness. Some people will stand on a streetcorner or walk up and down subway cars and preach the good word to you. Or the bad word. And what makes this man or woman any different than the others? All are doing nothing while appearing to be doing something. Marching is just marching. ‘Power in numbers,’ they say. But all it ever boils down to is if the thing was covered by media outlets on a Saturday afternoon for old people to watch on the television. Or for millennials to stream illegally or legally over their phones and tablets and whathaveyous.
And it all doesn’t really matter. Or does it? It doesn’t seem to. Or, at least, it seems no one really truly cares. To change it all. A march is a march is a march is a march. It’s just a march. It’s just shouting into the nothingness cannon of facebookary. It’s all time consuming and thought-provoking and it all amounts to nothing. No action. Just saying. Putting it out there. Almost as if putting it out there for someone else to do. Hoping for someone else to actually do something for you to then get behind and support. To post and to march and to support this person or thing from an armchair. But no one is doing anything. We’re all just sitting back. Sitting here. Reading recycled news stories of histories past. Histories repeating. Projecting thought. Wasting thought on what could be next. What should be next. But never taking the steps that take us there. Take all of us, collectively, there.
So, is this a call to action? Is this a call to all of us nationless men and women to finally stand up and march. Actually march and not stop marching forward until the change we deserve as humans—the freedom we deserve by Constitutional Right—or is this just another endless tireless nothingless rant upon the Great American Discontentment that filled the gaping hole of the once Great American Dream.
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