The Advocate

(By Banksy) Every day, I read and watch the news. My eyes bounce from MSNBC to Mother Jones, from Fox to Vox, from WaPo to HuffPo, from NYT to JDF, from Facebook to Twitter to Instagram to even fricking LinkedIn. The world is full of sad shit. People die. Lives are ruined. Monsters and villains run amok. Communities crumble from disparities in wealth, health, diversity, equity, equality, liberty, tolerance, justice, and peace as our planet literally cooks us all alive in a polluted mess. Every day, I read and watch the world, wondering what the hell is happening, feeling like the problems are too big for me to comprehend, let alone solve... So I tear my eyes away. I look at my family, look at my career, look at myself. I look away in fear, feeling powerless. I look away in shame, embarrassed that I am part of oppressive systems. I look away in exhaustion, expending so much energy merely to keep myself even. I look away and laugh, if only because I was never very good at crying. (H

You are one of the People of the Book, a member of one of the tribes. Maybe of my own. You are a Speaker -- not for, not to, but of. About. Concerning in detail. You may even be a practitioner of the Left-Hand Path. (After all, sufficiently advanced and all that.) Or, should I misjudge you, then victim or usurper. We born from mud and clay are always defined in twofold order: by our blood and by our works. We are. You are and have become more so by your recent endeavours. And yet, you have attempted to penetrate what cannot be because it is not. No end. Transcendental as nonexistent. The flesh interface is a closed loop. Your portals will not take you where you are going. You will return, inevitably, and perhaps even with a brush of The Name on your skin, here again to the mud and the clay. Like the hand that draws the hand. We are the ink and oil bound upon the surface. The canvas encapsulates as it defies being so. Because it is blank. Still, you grasp the Deep Knowledge