I often get lost in my own mind imagining headlines from the future such as;
“Liberals Fail to Comprehend Trump Winning Second Term”
“Clone Genetics Extend Possibility of Eternal Life”
“Donald J Trump Wins Fourth Election in A Row”
Sure the world was imperfect in 2016, but we recycled, we worried about endangered species, envisaged a planet sustained by renewable energy, there was a gradual shift towards transparency & equality. 2016. How we will come to remember you as humanity’s final days.
Critics will say not enough was achieved in the ‘Hope’ years, that progress had its chance but failed to realise it. The old myth that ‘change is gradual’ will be debunked as the neoliberal Empire Strikes back with rapid expanding global stupidity. The world will be privatised, I mean globalised, no wait I mean held at ransom by Trump’s NATO death star.
Billions and billions of dollars means jobs for the Empire. Well if you consider the manufacturing of drone warplanes for the Middle East a good job you’ll be perfectly content in the knowledge that dictators have been empowered globally to enslave your fellow man. In the future human rights are not such a big issue, global warming has slowed down because the ice caps have already melted, and hope in general is dead.
Hope is a thing people believed in around the year 2016. It was indeed a thing with feathers.
The robot authority actually detect any feeling of hope and beat you on the spot until you either admit you’ve no chance of making the world a better place or you bleed all the hope out of your defiant and shattered body, onto the streets of broken dreams and streams of liberal fantasies more commonly referred to as snowflake rivers.
Ah yes the years we lived in hope where the world was gradually changing for the better, what a wonderful time that was. With sunsets, and birds, and feminists. Such simpler times.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
“Liberals Fail to Comprehend Trump Winning Second Term”
“Clone Genetics Extend Possibility of Eternal Life”
“Donald J Trump Wins Fourth Election in A Row”
Sure the world was imperfect in 2016, but we recycled, we worried about endangered species, envisaged a planet sustained by renewable energy, there was a gradual shift towards transparency & equality. 2016. How we will come to remember you as humanity’s final days.
Critics will say not enough was achieved in the ‘Hope’ years, that progress had its chance but failed to realise it. The old myth that ‘change is gradual’ will be debunked as the neoliberal Empire Strikes back with rapid expanding global stupidity. The world will be privatised, I mean globalised, no wait I mean held at ransom by Trump’s NATO death star.
Billions and billions of dollars means jobs for the Empire. Well if you consider the manufacturing of drone warplanes for the Middle East a good job you’ll be perfectly content in the knowledge that dictators have been empowered globally to enslave your fellow man. In the future human rights are not such a big issue, global warming has slowed down because the ice caps have already melted, and hope in general is dead.
Hope is a thing people believed in around the year 2016. It was indeed a thing with feathers.
The robot authority actually detect any feeling of hope and beat you on the spot until you either admit you’ve no chance of making the world a better place or you bleed all the hope out of your defiant and shattered body, onto the streets of broken dreams and streams of liberal fantasies more commonly referred to as snowflake rivers.
Ah yes the years we lived in hope where the world was gradually changing for the better, what a wonderful time that was. With sunsets, and birds, and feminists. Such simpler times.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
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