There comes a time when we all have to hit the Reset Button.
There comes a time when the rivers cried for the Death of the American Dream dry up.
There comes a time when we all have to stand up as human beings, and decide that none of this bullshit is worth a God damned thing.
There comes a day when the air is so warm and thick that the entirety of our respiratory fills with this pure hot air, and we stare down the banks of our respective rivers and realize that all we can do is be the best person we know how to be.
There comes a day when all of Mankind has to grab onto this little, frail branch that we all spend our entire lives searching for, pull ourselves off our knees, and quit our fucking whining. At the end, when all the bombs have fallen, and all our tears and words have rushed through the floodplains like a hard West Texas rain, we’ve got to say ENOUGH.

You, me, all of us, have sat in a chair, or stood somewhere, when it all becomes clear. The entire irony of it is, we’re all so fucking scared to admit that we’ve hit this moment of frailty. You all know when you hit it. The time when you stare across the horizon, smell the air, and the tears well up. Maybe you’re sitting on the Illinois River, maybe you’re sitting on a canal in South Florida, maybe you’re in an above-ground pool in the middle of Forgotten Upper Central Illinois when the moon and the water and the joyous voices of the people around you hit just right.

There’s no place we’ve created that stands for anything truly real, for fear of everyone else discovering our fright or uncertainty.
Everyone has “My Position” and “My Politics”. Why the fuck are we so God damned afraid that we’re all the same species, and we’re all on the same spiral into the singularity that we’ve created?

I don’t have the answer. Nor do any of the men and women amongst whom I live. After all the syntax and diction and clever phrases and sarcasm we all create, it’s still so petty. All of our Fathers and Mothers, all of the sights and smells, all of the rivers of words that make all of us feel so separate from the stench and the glare of our cities and the sounds of the music we call our own, still there stands a compromise we just can’t find.

I really don’t know what I’m trying to say. I just know that there has to be a Reset Button. There has to be a place that, as Mankind, we can meet in the middle. And that’s what scares the Living Shit out of me.