Epiphanies

Twenty two years ago, I realized that the end was coming.

Fourteen years ago, I started trying to change things so that I might make a difference.

Six years ago, I began focusing on educating myself, so that I might be able to survive and help those left after the end.

Three years ago, I realized how that end would happen.


Today... I am confident in my mindset and abilities. I can hunt, fish, trap, gather. Administer first aid. Provide comfort and shelter, encouragement and solace. Teach skills, uplift hearts. Establish tactical and strategic communications. Set defensive formations and ambushes, deploy special resources. Manage logistics and people.

But I am alone. Social evolution has passed this anachronism by. My peers are no longer. My concept of love is outdated and outmoded. I went on a date last night, and today I have defensive contusions and my glasses are bent. I walked away. My feelings are hurt more than anything else, but this too seems a bit of an obsolescence. Understand, I am not weak -- but I am not prepared to save a world who will not even try to save itself.

I believe in liberty.

I believe in a lost cause.


I am not anonymous, but I am not forthcoming. I used to shout from the mountaintops, but freedom of speech has become circumstantial, just as our "inalienable" rights to privacy, religion and self defense have become.

Mostly I am alone, though. I used to believe in a thinking people's revolution, but now I believe everyone gazes blankly at their telescreens. Their actions and choices are constantly monitored in the name of "ratings." Increasingly their choices are limited to options presented by a warped selection of media conglomerates, while their tenuous grip on the day's social "morals" are reinforced and built on by the exploitation of their gregarious natures via the artificial mob/pack mentalities beamed, propagated and piped into their living rooms and, my God, their bedrooms and children's bedrooms.

I heard a catchy tune recently, "I kissed a girl and I liked it." At first, I chuckled. Then I thought about the millions of american preteens bopping along to the song. I'm sure this doesn't upset the agendas of people with alterior motives. But it upsets me, and reaffirms my belief that I will never have that family I always wanted to have and raise.


On July 4th, 2007, my foster father died with his his hand in mine. I always wondered why he had never had children of his own. I think I understand now. I still dont really know how to talk about this.

A month later, around August 10th, my biological father was found dead in his home, alone. I had said for years that the next time I saw him, it would be as he was being lowered into the ground. I didn't flinch during the three volleys. I had always thought of myself as the eldest, until the pall was presented to his son from a previous marriage, when reality sat in. I was the last to leave the place where he was burried, and I saluted the man I respected for all of his strenghts and all of his weaknesses. I hope I have learned from his life.

I put two spaces after a period. I keep a laptop in a backpack, it's strap pulls on one of my bruises. I have a broken heart.

I am alone here, I don't know how long I can hang on;

winter is coming soon.