It’s happened a hundred times over. Small talk; shooting the shit with some stranger. At some point along the line his place of origin becomes a topic of interest. He answers.

“Oh”. The conversation falls to a nadir.

They try not to say anything, try to preserve grace; but their expression tells all.

“What does he see in those broken buildings war torn streets? What future exists in that elapsed no mans land?”

Future, at what time does the future arrive?

Once the art of mass production casts its shadows upon ghosts of the past?

Perhaps when government idealism has produced a populace that is ignorant to their deprivation?

Yes, this must be future, minimal, efficient, manipulative.

Yet, in the darkness shed by such vanity, lurks something deeper, a resistance; a network of individuals whom have dedicated their lives to the realization

Our shots are fired from cameras; our swipes are made with brushes. Every photo is a bullet, each song a battle cry. Our declaration to overcome is victory.

We congregate to celebrate in dance what decades of industrial fallout and economic mal nutrition have failed to accomplish. We unite to remind ourselves of who we are fighting for.

We do not fight for one another. We fight for you.

You will find hints of our existence; Corridors of luminance through the abyss.

Do not be afraid. The Nation has been waiting for you.

Children of the resistance open your hearts and love; open your minds and live.