I have never embraced the Anthro-Rhetoric that would have us in some kind of odd thrall with the cultural power of the myth. The fairy tales are not our future. The fairy tales are always our future. Governments of Homo sapiens have brought us divisions we supposedly can live with, but we wage war a lot. We do not agree amongst ourselves. We know all about the leading tough old men at the top of the acquisition chain of caves and diseases that force their way through hubris and puff out those old chested, you dinosaurs. We are ill-informed, ill-educated, sentimental, hypocrites who inject, infect, and genuflict morality and mysticism, and while we ruminate over what power is, and how can we get more of it, not to own the world, but to own the world, and if I can’t have it fuck all of you we go through that FazyCrazy drive to what power will be next. We come apart. Our power structures fail eon after eon. They abuse us because our patriarchal hierarchy pulls rank. They are always there to pull rank and save democracy.

But from whom.

From them.

But we are them.

No comment.

Your voices are up for grabs again.

I can manage them by saying voices be gone. Voices be gone.

See.

History is a funny thing. As if.