Pouring Concrete Around a Flag Post

Friends in our common dimension, I ask you
Who carries your intuition with them to Washington DC? Or to Westminster? Or New Delhi?
Who takes your views to the government nerve centers, looks on at the weather vanes each day, and remind themselves of the means to step into the wind with an heir of prosperity.
Is it the politicians donned in the suits of their representation?
Piety resting beneath their feet like a gelly sole in their shoes. Fitting as that metaphor may be, they parody a semi-frequent thinker of a citizen in their oration, and take to their webcams when C-Span can’t measure them correctly.
They pick the stakes in their favor, and speak of dissent around them. A solution exists, but they paint themselves and scarce others at the bipartisan table. Let the world burn, they will not! And it becomes of you to generate their inspirations in a resource-war so they may campaign for many years speaking from that corner of their mouth and so on.

Could your views be garnered in the act of refusal? The merry band of champions we call the protesters, in all fashions. Each human has another sitting beside them at supper who glows with pride at their opposition for a posh line of thinking. They accuse you of conforming without thought. Such people live your inner monologue, and role play it live on the streets of a marketable tract of concrete. The devils they can’t see must be spoken to, and by God their freedom of speech will be ensured among other things. Flooding computer panels with a distant location, where a man carries a sign telling the President to let go of power, and for the globe travelers to turn back at his country’s welcome mat, and to get his paper money back from the Post Office and the bastards who play with test tubes filled with air. The rejection will not be rejected without some sort of un-demonstrated rejection to these terribly modern times. This is for sure.

Diligent is the only way to describe the messenger of your ideas contrived ideals.
But it stands to reason, much more complex than my implication. For it isn’t the politicians or the executors, the scientists, or the near sighted opposition writ large.
The act itself of creation passes those opinions to the whole, for its utter augmentation. There isn’t another soul in existence that can carbon copy, point by point, the aspects you see most fitting with your mind.
The standing figures of Government exist to represent your constitution, and not overshadow it. You can vote with your hand, or you can vote in your contact with the system itself. You can rely on the science of our times, or you can analyze the evidence yet to be purged, to find the theories in heir to the future. You can be the gilded conscience and smear the airwaves with the visual of your pickets, and exist as a picketer who has yet to affix their sign’s point of view on their spirit.

Elect yourself to do what is right in every hemisphere of control. Free the outside world from the confines of your predilection, and you will see it all move in a way that rivals every rivet and screw in the operation of humanity you’ve come to know. Such as there begets a time for Hand Holding, that too gives way to an era of ┬áHand Molding. Picking up the layers of stone and matter that is as whole and complete as you. This constant reformation in heart is the only transmitter of you at finger tip intersection.

Is it you who is ready to explore a universe of principles?
Is it us who can act as lady liberty, with a plate of politic and a plate of atonement in balance?
Are we treasonous in parlay, or are we treasonous in our ignorance to construction?
You are the ballot, and therefore the architect of every motion going forward. Let’s take the next step.

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