This Is A Call pt.5: …on a personal note…

It’s that time of year folks!
That season where the snow has left, the geese have returned; and the cabin-fevered populace of this great expansive country are bursting at the seams to get outdoors and soak up some sun, some beer, and some fun.
Soon, the bicyclists, motorcyclists, and outdoor enthusiasts will be roaming in hoards; as well as packs of children running wild around playgrounds and sports fields in every town; big and small. The morning will greet you with the sound of birds singing; the dusk, with a warm caress of the last rays of the setting sun.

Now, on top of that usual spring fare, this year I expect that there will also be a large amount of singing, chanting, talking and screaming from a wide variety of individuals and congregations of individuals; that will spill out and through the streets, a sea of pride for the mind, heart, and soul of mankind, and the world we are a part of.

Like I have stated many times before, Occupy Wall Street was nothing more than the spark to start the fire. The “proof of concept”, if you will. And it worked well, in my opinion.

Since Occupy Wall Street there have been mass demonstrations and protests in every major city in North America, as well as a massive explosion of networking and consciousness expansion out there, in the ether of the inter-world. A brilliant, humming awakening. The kind that does nothing but grow and flourish in the warm lushness of this spring season.
Occupy’s, INM’s, Anonymous’, and more! They’re all beginning to take root and spread their shoots to the sky.
But…
Unlike many of those in the activism community, I am an angry soul. Truly pissed off. And truly unable to express myself with the peaceful, soft-spoken, “kill them with kindness manner” in which the rest of my peers seem to project with uncanny regularity and genuine sincerity. For a while, I thought that maybe I just didn’t fit in with these folks. Perhaps I was just the town drunk trying to force my way into the local church to get myself a taste of that wine.
Or the rabid neighbourhood dog, who, despite the drooling and growling, is allowed to stay around because he keeps the whores and crack heads at bay…
Indeed…

I take pride in being the stick that stirs the shit. It is much better than being the bucket that holds it, one would imagine.
One would also imagine that the great and powerful Harpooner would perhaps know a thing or two about what being that bucket is like. And that, I think, is the point of this all. The purpose for my involvement. I am the stick to his bucket ‘o shit. I’m here to stir that stuff around until enough people get sprayed by it, get sick of it, and pick that load of crap up and toss it out…
The current bunch of pocket rapists conducting business in the house of PC are not the sort that can be understood, explained or dealt with by a rational, kind-hearted person. It takes a certain kind of twist of character to be able to get into the head of that kind of mutant public representation. An affinity for wading deep into the shit of it.
To be able to properly express what it is, in these double agents of Canadian values, that is so wrong; you must be ready, willing, and able to stoop to their level.

And that my friends, is something I can do without any more effort than breathing.

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