Guest Blogpost.


From Tom.
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I wake up to the sound of a cock-adoodle-doo to be first at the preaching chair, painting some big dudes on the wall in black paint. This is anti-all talk. The grassroot has been pulled out, it's concrete force. Armed and ready they stand fit to fight, but they don't serve the song of their enemies, so they end up hitting about on each other in their own name. One for all, all versus all. The jackpot in the lottery is the magical number in the land where everybody can write, but have nothing else to put to paper. Don't settle for what they want to give you, take what you deserve. Good people comes last, rob and steal. Cannibals feeding us amongst kamikaze pilots with nothing worth dying for.

The miracle doctors queue up to heal you.
"We can help you, just let us modify you."
Am I sicker from the medicine you give? Your userbase alone sickens me.
I see they buy your wonder-elixirs, but I don't buy it. Your eyes glow to greedy.
People who fill their own bags before they give a hand aren't tourguides, but con-men. They want you to believe you've gone astray, so they can lead you on their paths. Check the map-book he's reading out loud from and flip a few pages before you follow him onwards.
The ghosts have haunted so long you could swear they were flesh and blood. In your nursery lies a tramp starving because you want peace. There's more needed than light to grow, growth but no flowering. Buzzing, but no honey. No hive, and no queen. Soon there's nothing.

Put people in deep holes, every captivity gets a piece of freedom because their chains are made of gold. Brave attempts of escape, but stopped by fellow prisoners. And they wonder why there's a drout of peace songs.. Economical struggle down the halls, but labyrinths are lab-rats. And there's more than thumbs that differ us from them, they weren't made to beg. Is it any wonder they step on you while you're down..

Born as swans, but life is the ugly duckling fighting for anything but their daily bread. And while we fight over crumbs, the food is rotting on the table. Hansel & Gretel never made it out of the woods, they lost track. Alas, I see him who set you free from pity, it's gone from bread and circus to welfare and TV. You're just another slave, you make the things and he gives it to you as a gift. Swear infinite belief to a god, but does that god care for you when he wants to know how you're doing at home? Call in, give your vote. The TV-evangelists preach, but they can't be my saviour. Umbilical cords replaced by cable, like in Aesops Fables, the ass has gotten a voice. With power enough to conquer lands, but not enough sense to govern it.

Hang the small, let the big walk. Many falls in trouble for the peace of the few. They want you to sleep, so they hum an old lullaby about how we're going to travel over the rainbow where there's a land. Where everybody can join, if you make a fire, I'll carry some wood.
But the flying-carpet unraveled as soon as we came up in the air.
Take my word for it. The paradox of free hands having no one to hold, to warm themselves when it gets cold. And so the whole worlds turns cold.