Four years and a day. Your snooze button has expired.

Listen, I’m not exactly Miss Sunshine in the morning. I can sleep through any alarm clock, guaranteed. In fact, even the truck driver’s special (a foghorn of an alarm purchased from a RV supply site last year) doesn’t pack the punch I need to get to work on time. So I can understand your resistance to waking. I can relate to your desire to remain warm and protected from the harsh reality waiting just beyond your blankets.

I can relate… but I can no longer sympathize. Wake the hell up! NOW!

Tonight I stood upon a bridge and let the wind use my hair as a cat o’ nine tails. I watched hundreds of you pass by on the trains and in your cars… SLEEPING! Four years and a day is four years and a day too long to let the War Monsters profit from your paychecks, seizing limbs and lives from the children they employ.

Didn’t you see me shining my light? Didn’t you hear me singing? I tried to get your attention. I was soft and sweet in my approach so as to ease your transition, but you turned away. I gently nudged you, still singing, but a groan was all I heard in reply. So I yelled. I yelled as loud as I could to be heard over the wind and the traffic. I waved my arms and jumped up and down. Wake up! PLEASE! WAKE THE HELL UP RIGHT NOW!

I know you heard me that time. How could you turn away? Haven’t you seen those kids and their new patriotic, plastic body parts? How many arms and legs will it take for you to see the mountain of dismembered lives created by this oil-land-grab?

Please open your eyes. I’ll make you some really good coffee. I’ve already got a nice fire going. Please wake up. We need you.

Four Years and a Day


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