Say La V Productions

 Something borrowed, something not blue, something old and never used. I don't know but if I didn't know better, it seems I've waited all my life for this day, or maybe, the day after, which would be tomorrow, wouldn't it be? You know, whatever day it is when a victor is announced. Will it be Project 2025 or Project Glad to Be Rid of Donald Trump But Everything Remains the Same, Sounds the Same, and Is the Same. Never mind. We have to wait. Old friends, who have passed from revolutionary to grandparent (whatever politics that is) calling yesterday to say they're too old to go live in the Canadian mountains if Trump is elected. I try and be calm and say, I'm too old to go through whatever either of these candidates offer for the future. I was left out of the Great American Dream long ago but i, like the billions of others on this earth, that are not in awe of the American diaspora, buckled down to work and play all our lives. Revolution according to Marx, or Mao ...

 The words and terms, standards, rules, and laws are no longer useful. They've been beat down, corrupted, lied about, exposed, abused and mostly ignored, and forgotten. Gone are the days when we are one movement. If we ever were. maybe it’s the days when we thought we were one movement that are gone. We believed we were the first to control consciousness, corner it, like it was a beaten animal but it came out enraged and dangerous instead, ready to fight. The term human degenerated into the term ‘matter’ or "consumer." We had been broken down into dna, goals, ambition, and cannon fodder. No one will give a shit about any of us twenty years after we become successful. Even the greatest, strongest, most wealthy among us become footnotes in the history books, and sooner or later the history books will be obsolete because they will be so replete with lies and self-aggrandizing stories that reading or learning from Aesop’s Fables or the Holy Bible will be just as fulfilling, a...

- seeds of dissent root in the blood of martyrs together, we were strong, then Apart, we fall unto a sword of personal perdition,  acceptance of their insanity, over our own desires. Opened our arms to their vendettas,  Became what we once despised. an age-old rhyme, freedom fighters  How can change happen in a country where policy makers age out their worn-out old ideas about the world against the persistence of the young, the insistence of new minds who dont want old men with old minds to protect them. The old architects of fear, who can only build castles, walls, moats, call it progress,  shame on them, Here we are at Columbia again sixty years later, the same issues, same monsters running to the shelter of their always dying society,  dying. dead.  The children of the children of the children consummated by the old vestiges of war, genocide, lies. Encircled. We've seen this ...

I could never be a martyr. Sit like siddartha, pour gasoline on my head, and strike the match of my desire. Choose where you want to be. It used to be in front of at Dow Chemical They wrote big boy on a nuclear bomb, A plane, a drone, a white house that never listens. The children of the children's children wiped from the earth.