Dedication:
To Bradley Manning from The Last Man
I.
Bradelyimages (1)You always stood tall
not taking any more
the lying stretch of the Five Eyes secrecy code,
that superfluous cult that makes us so bullet proof;
the devil’s satellite trunk watching from above
the rest of the globe
and even more–
pushing keyboard killing buttons;
causing oppressed, dipped in  the “blood & land” poison, ready to riot
against the false flag reversal calls–first concur, then divide,
riding the tech power to the ground of the crumbling imperial rule,
-the world’s “Boss” Hog state–
beating commands in our heads,
oh that “heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions.”
The old world with the landscape of the son-less “Terra Incognita,”
To us–the righteous and fatherless “old club” boys.
II.
EdwardSnowdenimages (1)This is my tribute,
To you my friend, facing the prosecution and trail:
O Tempora, O Mores”
Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning
I haven’t  too much to say,
I stand for you and the last man in me;
My pale face drips downcast eyes of one more utter descent
sinking bottomless,
where I stripped with one finger touch all power buttons
hydradownload (3)and find myself in the aporetic, private, stateless, paper waiting room,
drowned in Nolan’s thought
sailing on the second “Levant’s” ship and
crossing the chiasm sea of an endless monologue
which ends each night with a pointless question,
that finally lands at the brink off the shore dawn
touching the slime jellyfish ocean,
stinging on my hand palms,
download (2)but I still mutter–truth liberates– 
even though the early rays glare boomerang burns

creeping stagnate reflection in the pith of my eyes.
My palms sweat in bonanza silence
while I shiver in a habit without the self,
the motherless son smeared with the baggage of treason on my ass’ back.
Still, with my sword I bleed secrets and lies into articles and news,
cutting hydra pretend heads,
breaking the humanity’s biggest lie ripple
Hissing over the Echelon, Sigint, and Prism
ocean fiber optic cables of that Tempest riddle
That wildly rocks around Capitol Hill and White House crooked Pike Pines–Triangle,
ripping dried international branches,
and staring into the wide-open Stellar Wind–pinegap.

____________________________________________

And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:

“It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the germ of his highest hope.” (Friedrich Nietzsche, “Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Prologue V)



Bradley Manning’s “Leaks”:

http://youtu.be/tbqmr5rtdOs

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