You never listen. It’s not over until it’s over. No future. Only probabilities. A numerical drowning in a game of chance.

The house always wins. Which is why when someone wins big at slots, the bells and lightshows all go off hysterically to prove to onlookers that the house can lose.

The house always wins.

What was it that the rioters hoped to gain. What was it they hoped to come away with. What was it they actually received.

Recognition. Validation. The knowledge that their dream-politik was real enough for people to die over it and from it. The confirmation that their role in the history of heroism was now a fact that no one (liberals) can wash the stain away. That they were here. That they aren’t going anywhere.

Those of us in Antifa knew this would happen. We could see and understand the probabilities building pressure like the cooker it was. Why is it that the members of the media could not see it. Why is it that The Bureaucracy, The Sovereignty Sustainers, The Protectorate, failed to see that the skeleton that props up and holds together the construction of quid pro quo that political discourse hangs its hat on its home while entertaining dissent.

Because they are the entitled. They participate in the mechanics of the great machine in such a way that the great machine can only be perceived as sacred and smaller than the nightmare that is, in fact, America. Chaos, death, the accoutrements of violence. It’s not over until it’s over. Those of us in Antifa know.