Another Saturday Night

These late nights just seem to blur together at this point in time. Too many times, I end up doing the same things, and I can’t believe that I haven’t noticed it yet. I’ve always prided myself cleaning before I leave, have some existential crisis, lament my life choices on the car ride home, resolve to make change, and then drop it. I’m getting sick and tired of this constant loop. I need to break free of it.

I don’t have anybody to share my sorrow with, as it is too late for a conversation, a philosophical conversation, to exist. Everyone is off, drifting into their rehearsed dream cycle, reinforcing the idea that there is no need to think when everything is so evident to do: get rich and look out for yourself. The great “American Dream!” Yeah right, the only dreaming we do is the sleep all of these fools are doing: resting knowing that the higher powers have their best interest. I know the second I stop looking after myself, I’m screwed. I think that’s why I force myself to this extent, to watch out for my back.

Well, I’m tired of always being at the cut-off of each line. I need to make a change, or else there is no reason for me to be here. The best way to make change is through yourself. With the little bit of money I have on me, I can make a difference. What I’ll do is invest in developing my skills, taking up lessons in writing and spending more of my free time writing and reading books. There is nothing more wasteful than having the power to think profound ideas, but there is no profound ideas to think of. Then, I’ll team up with a few people. No more than five, as the bigger the group, the harder it is to divide assets, and even numbers will make for harder times making group decisions.

Next Saturday night, I will go straight home, and spend the night researching. I need to be equipped for revolution. I need to create a slogan to help draw in support for my cause. I need to make a justification that the system needs to be flipped over. I need to wake up those sleeps sacks of silenced selected numbers. I’ll slap them awake with my rhetoric, stinging their brain with thought. I’ll stab them with the smell of the waste in their nose, making them aware of the smell of the enemy. There is no need to show pictures, as these demons are well versed in camouflage, and they can be in my group of supporters.

I always sleep with one eye open, and one arm able at all times. Don’t trust anyone, except for yourself. And don’t even trust yourself, as you aren’t always yourself.

They’ll regret the day that they watered down my precious Saturday nights, exploiting my labor and paying me minuscule fractions of their income. I’m not busting my back for them to make millions. I’m busting my back for the good times I want to live; the Saturday nights that I need and long for. The satisfaction that the work I did will indeed go to a good cause, and essentially guarantee security, the security that no one controls me but me.

So let’s rise up in arms! Pens and pencils in hand, laptops at the ready! Load the printers with ink and make sure that the site is always updated, sending out notifications of our liberation attempts. I know! Let’s call this the “Liberaiton Saga!” They can kill the revolutionary, but they can’t kill the revolution. If I’m a martyr for my cause, someone will always take my place. I’m nothing but an instigator, and I will live in the same conditions as my fellow cohorts.

In the name of Saturday nights, let me have a good night!

– J.E.