Call to Arms

This is a book for everyone and not a book at all.

Yes, you, who hates books.

Yes, you, who loves books.

Yes, you, who hasn’t cracked a book open since freshman year English.

Yes, you, who has a beautifully staged stack of books to make that shelf look just right.

Yes, you, who has decided that the problems that plague the planet are far removed from you.

Yes, you, who are deeply enmeshed in the plague, coughing blood up and carrying on.

Yes, you, who rolls your eyes when you hear

After all this time

That the pen

Is mightier

Than the sword.

Sounds like something somebody who can’t handle their sword says.

Sounds like an old timey proverb, rooting on nerds for centuries.

Sounds like somebody forgot the sword has been,

On some historical occasions,

Mighter than

The pen.

Centuries with only ink spilling

And no blood

Will do that to the best of ‘em.

Or maybe it was a saying made up by greedy, turgid

Mouths that lie, with eyes on your wives and your lives

As the prize.

Maybe it was simply that:

A domestication of the savagery

Or nature as its called,

When there’s nothing to gain from it.

A candied-apple sentiment, reminding you that

Civilized people use pens now.

You wouldn’t want people thinking you’re some ill-bred violent savage would you?

What are you, in the dark ages? Write about it instead,

You filthy, outlying scourge to society. Get a grip.

Repeated and written and washed in scalding water

Scrubbed into the children and the men and the women

So that everyone would set their swords aside

Without griping, without fighting, without a fuss.

Is plundering even fun when there’s no fight, fellas?

What type of wormy cuntweasels applaud winning a fight

They haven’t sweat a drop for, and couldn’t win had they not

Tricked their opponent into laying down their weapons?

Do you smash mugs to those victories, calling yourself winners ?

Don’t answer.

That was rhetorical.

Of course you do.

But back to the rest of you.

Why choose one or the other, darlings?

We have entered the New Gilded Age, the repeat-yet-slightly-different Great Depression: Tech2K Edition, the Millenial Lost Generation, the shit.

We have entered the shit. Been swimming in it deep for a few years too, if you haven’t noticed.

You’ve probably. noticed.

How rude of me. You surely have noticed all of the courageous awards for everyone’s bravery in pulling together

In fighting on the frontlines

In showing resilience and something about bootstraps

Courage, the badge of the Martyrs,

The glue of the American Dream.

Suffer for it, and you shall have earned it, they say.

They slap on the gold medal so nobly, shaking hands on stage,

seeping their poison on every person who nears them.

A consolation prize they relish handing out.

Thank you, for your courage, in the face of knowing

That you had no chance. How brave. How strong.

Smile there, right there, for that camera.

Courage.

Pick up your swords and your pens and your wills to live.

Hone your skills and your visions and your goals.

And write, fight, live knowing with full faith

That it could not make a single difference

Anywhere. For Anything.

In this way, they will never win.