JOHN R HALL—From their corporate cages all domesticated sentient beings await their turns to become martyrs to capitalism. Cows, pigs, sheep, turkeys, and chickens moo, oink, bleat, gobble, and cackle their way to the meat grinders. Credit card zombified humanoids, distracted beyond all hope by shiny objects and virgins fondling credit cards, spend like drunken sailors, then toil like slaves, under the threatening whip of bankruptcy, hunger, and homelessness, calloused hands digging their own early earthly graves.
""john r. hall""
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JOHN R. HALL—It occurs to me now that all those protests were just good physical exercise, and little more. Even less successful if you were among those who got arrested, gassed, or had their heads busted in the process. The thing is…fixing one small piece of a system that’s already hopelessly broken is an act of futility. Women’s rights? Forget it. Gay rights, minority rights, immigrant rights, gun control, equal internet access…all just lounge chairs on the deck of the Titanic, and no matter how you arrange them…you know the rest.
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JOHN R. HALL—How do you convince a schmuck with a two hundred thousand dollar high interest student loan debt and an engineering degree from the University of Arizona that working at Raytheon is tantamount to mass-murder? Who’s going to tell that testosterone-charged, fresh out of high school young buck that joining the U.S. Marines isn’t going to build him into a man, but, like so many boys before him, turn him into a fiend, a killer, a rapist?
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JOHN R HALL—Weeks later, the bullet Kennedy knew was coming separated his brain from his skull, and successfully squelched all hopes for disarmament, an end to the Vietnam War, an end to the Cold War and peaceful coexistence with Russia and Cuba. Silly windmill tilter that he was, the man who dared to speak out against the feudal system, which had been keeping the lesser people on Planet Earth in their places for twelve hundred years or so, paid exactly the price which was to be expected. The Crown was to continue pulling all the strings and living off the fat of the land from its shadow castle.
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Love Letter to Heroes From the Village of the Dark Spring
10 minutes readJOHN R. HALL—In the depths of despair during the deaths of loved ones, I abandoned my own true hero’s journey, ceased writing, discontinued paying any attention to the crimes of Empire, the deep state, the military/industrial complex, and all the usual suspects, turning my back on the very issues I cared about most deeply. In retrospect this may have been my second inexcusable regret and mistake. The decision didn’t even give me any peace of mind, didn’t stop the anger and rage, didn’t ease the pain of knowing that the crimes against humanity and the assault of Pachamama continued unabated and with growing acceleration.