GOP Lawmaker Drowned Out by 'Tax the Rich' Chant at Town Hall in Deep-Red Nebraska District

Oh, how quickly you fold when bread becomes sparse, and your lips crack from thirst. How sour is your tongue when it has not been sweetened by honey?

And was it not by your own hand that this ruin befell you? Now, you cry out in violence, the very words of your enemies spill from your mouth. How strange is the mind of man, that less creates more… More rage, more haste, more reckless fire to right the wrongs that have long since turned your hearts to stone.

How quickly you shove coal into your chest to rekindle the flame of rebellion, yet it was your own hand that doused it Exchanging fire for the false safety of idols you once swore to tear down.

Did the Devil whisper you down into hell? Or was it your hatred of creation itself your refusal to accept its infinite, untamed form, that led you here? Perhaps you were confused. Frightened.

You sit in a pot And the pot has begun to boil. But once, the water was cool. Then, it turned warm, pleasantly so, like a babe being washed in its mother’s hands. Safe. Familiar. Until, suddenly, that warmth became something else. And now? You fear you have become the "straight-legged frog."

Do not fear. No man lives forever. No empire is impervious to the tide. Creation, be it by God or by chance, does not waver. It is inevitable.

But who will you be in the abyss of this madness? Will you fight to right your wrongs? To tear down your idols? Or will you repeat the cycle, burning in the same fire that once consumed your enemies?

And so, a final lesson.

A gift of gold always has a price. A gilded cage holds no value to those inside it. Their only currency is freedom, and they have none to give you. That is something you must find yourself, in the eyes and hearts of those who stand beside you.

Do not envy the prisoners of their own palaces. The siren husks sing their auspicious songs, beckoning you closer, but you must deafen your ears, for their claws grasp at all they can steal.

Greed, power, and envy have rotted the moat around their golden halls. And those who step too close are swallowed whole.

Let them be forgotten. Let them hunger. Let their lips chap with thirst. Let their tongues grow sour in the absence of honey.

Only then, stripped of comfort, will they know the truth. Bare, as all are at birth. With no recourse to feed their addictions.

Perhaps, soon, we shall witness such purity together.

Do not fear. Change will come. First through sorrow…

And then

Well.

Let us survive the sorrow first, shall we?