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He wakes up. There were no dreams. He goes to the bathroom and falls over a cat. Then the cat disappears. There was no cat. It is dark. It is near the end. It is near the beginning. Gangs war with each other. Treasure Hunters are searching in all the wrong places. He runs on a running machine. He runs and runs and runs and then he runs some more. Torture has been deemed to be okay drone strikes have deemed to be okay whistle blowing has deemed to be a crime protesting violence has deemed to be a crime being a person of color means living in another world being white means feeling mildly guilty but not doing anything about the disparity the two worlds the split reality because it benefits white people white men good white christian men with their suits and their ties and their cufflinks and their swollen bond accounts. War and Revolution and Slavery and Spying and Torture and Baconnaise and Wealth Gaps and photoshopped reality and the endless sleep of failure. Then the books are burnt and the e-readers are melted and the streaming of information is stemmed and the door to the room you are trapped in is cemented shut. Censorship wins and the guards have no one to guard them so they do what they want when they want to whom they want. In the darkest corner of the deepest hole a small light glimmers. It is a flame. A small weak flame. It is being fed slowly fed steadily it grows and it grows ever so slowly waiting for 2015. Then he eats an apple. Then he eats some cashews. Then he looks out of the window. Then he looks at the trees. Then he goes to sleep.
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