I will not pay.

There is a space, long forgotten, a sacred center that burns with the ferocity of the sun and threatens to, at all times, singe and turn to ash all our contrivances and expectations.  Perhaps, of course, that is why we have built such barriers, thick and virtually impenetrable around this ferocity.  But even our barriers, built of years of misunderstanding our fears, cannot keep out the rumble, the vibration.  Just as there is no possibility of the plates of the earth holding up against the bursting of the core, neither can we ever fully die.  What one may think is death is only highly trained anger acting as the transferring mechanism for the energy of the soul.

-but wait, golf is on ESPN-

I will not fucking pay and I will not behave myself in the midst of the great energy of fear that is the final result and last gasp of those attempting to forget.  And you?  What about you?  What about your rules and your civil society and your road signs and traffic lights; what about you?  Are you proud of yourself and your humanity or are you just getting by, slowly, growing angrier and angrier, unsure of why and even less caring.

There are children who do not know our tricks and there is nothing more important in all of human existence, nothing more important in all the universe, nothing more important in god, than to protect these children from our disease.  We must immunize them from the traits and familiar trappings and comfortable niche of fear, we must put them into the roaring river that drives itself along the rocky and uneven bed and allow them to stumble and climb and find their balance and secret caves and freeze in the water and warm them by our own skin and put them back in again.  There is only one way.

I’ll be fucked if I’m going to pay!  You?

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