History Is Our autobiography. Now is our work. Future is our eulogy.
When you turn on a computer, you’re seeing the ghost of Charles Babbage. When you take a drive down the west coast, Karl Benz haunts your passenger seat. When you watch videos of Michael Jordan dunking, James Naismith’s legacy unfolds. From machines to societies, from Hitler’s ovens to Jesus’s nail prints, from glass skyscrapers to temple ruins, man’s handprints are on everything the eye can see. His philosophical words carve away at wasted motions, his eyes sneer at injustice while his hands attempt to wring out the embarrassing blood soaking his humiliated conscience. His peaceful propositions bring hope in generational ocean waves as his desires fester into the diseased pus of seasonal war. We are both cop and criminal, father and failure, prophet and thief, lover and murder, government and revolution. As men, we are a nomadic race of restless children ever searching for the promise of adulthood. Fleeing our suffocating shelters… to build our own home in the hearth of an ideal. Our principles are measured by the breadth of our skill, and our success is determined by the relationships that motivate us to sacrifice the fuel of our lives. We are divided only by the defiance of cultural preference but eternally united in the fertile soil of necessity in which we grow as one seed. Fooled by the plethora of colorful perspective-shaped flowers sprouting from our individually cultivated activity, we forget the harmonious desire hidden deep in the governing roots of our DNA. Let this be a reminder: as the Kinks once lamented from the mouth of our collective mind to the ears of our woefully separated souls….