A social ironist goes public
Sterling Lynch

Moments are not made in experience; they are made in memory. In the activity of motioned life, time's utility is the fabrication of a return-sense concerning the already done. A counterfeit repose can be made of the on-going motion, by casting a backward embrace to thought-points that do not exist without such an embrace. The counterfeit repose held here is enough to make a moment of the already done. The activity of our little men of state is good cause for return.

Twenty-three seconds cannot think much less moment make, but in reposed motion a form can be conceived. A question worth stretching from phrase's end is the cause of such reposes. Twenty-three seconds, a winter ago, did nothing to cause collective repose. Charitable conceptions of our little man of state, of our little great white state, made such a repose convenient to by-pass. Such charity of ours was ill-conceived, even with the justifications of tax deduction utility or smooth operation security. Twenty-three seconds went by without replay because of a nowhere near here wish and the ready-at-hand convenience of closed-door-behind activity held to eager light. Caught in the play of shadows brought to light below the border, our charitable, naive and all too eager eyes tracked the bright lights, while our little men of state played unnoticed in the glare.

Now, proper work has been done (thank nothing but a [your] culture consistent sense of wrong) to demand full repose from all. Thank too the fortunate affluence of those this-time-only oppressed. Thank too, the too burned retinas of long light staring that brought a headline vacuum. Thank too the to the point-score politics which circumstantially fairs a culture consistent good. Thank you? No. Nor me. Luck is a science everyone understands.

In what manner shall the twenty-three seconds be cast, if I make hope for a time-enough held repose such that the cast might be considered. A call for clarity first: no thing was lost, no essence revoked. No, more than all these toy chest treasures, a practice was made to have future permit, at the cost of past and present hope for little great white state practices. What permit-activity will our little man of state and the little men who follow make of these twenty-three seconds. Holding two weights at even height and demanding a measure will do little to change activity all ready practiced by our little men of state.

Only the can-- of which we all grudgingly belong-- will call our little men of state to order. The rich make like the poor, the powerful make like the powerless. Both act, but only one by choice. We, this little great white state, make like the poor in power all the while our riches urge outward with power unspent. A call for clarity first: power is not a possession unused, nor is it energy held in kinetic; no, it describes an activity, an activity of the can. Powerlessness, is an excuse-full description of the (non) activity of the wee poor little white state, an excuse for activity undone.

Cast a moment of twenty-three seconds that best predicts the permit-activity you want of your little men of state, your very own state men. I cast a moment which makes of this twenty-three a vector that points both--and many--ways. I cast a moment--out into/onto you--which prohibits two activities that now stand as permit-activity if left unanswered. Cast this twenty-three as a memory moment which will forever replay a story when state-citizen activity took possession of the activity of their own state men. Our state men must not live outside of the activity state-citizens endorse. Pretend no longer to being little: any power you might have is not hidden in misplacement or undiscovered in some diviners dream, power is a description of your own undiscovered activity. With this repose, convert the can into a will.