Tribes of the
Wasteland

A dark cloud approached on the horizon, the air cooled, thunder rang from the distance; a warning of the incoming storm. The rabbit scurried to its den, and wolves gathered tighter in their pack. 

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I am a citizen of nothing. No nation. No politic. I belong only to my tribe, my family, and this planet. All else is arbitrary. 

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I recognize my real opponents. Consumerism. Stagnation. Exploitation. Domestication. Empire. 

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I recognize my real allies. 
Those who have had their hope robbed, direction blurred, and future stripped from them.

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To my family, I am bonded by blood. 
To my friends, I am bonded by choice.
To this land, I am bonded by my birthright. 
This is the real meaning of blood, honour, and soil. 

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My family and tribe, are the strength in my arms, the breath in my voice.

My roots are of this earth, strong like the mighty oak. 

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I acknowledge strength. Living with accomplishment and pride, not insecurity and prejudice. 

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I stand as monarch to myself alone.

I rule only my own kingdom, and do so with judgement tempered with mercy. 

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I belong to no man or man-made construct to which I have not consented. 

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I will not be domesticated declawed livestock to be sheared and milked for profit. 

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My children will not live as rats to run in a cage for the interest of consumer viability. 

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My brothers are not fodder for a machine that would march them to death,

prison, or oblivion in the name of corporate profit. 

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I can no longer idly watch the slaughterhouses, the clear cuts, the poisoned rivers, or the ocean harvested barren in the name of selfishness and greed. 

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I will not sit by while these concrete monoliths and petty intoxications, rob our spirit and dull our senses. 

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Are you content in the passive herd? Or worse, do you profit from our collapse?

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I step out of from under this pale grey sky and into the sun,

feel the wind on my face, smell the grass and trees,

and I watch as the elk leaps over the barbed wire fence, returning the trees.

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We seek a cure for modern culture.

We pit ourselves against the grinding inertia of apathy.

Against gravity. Against the chains of ignorance and fragility. 

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We seek strength, connection, independence, and liberty. 

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We will rise to meet the storm. 

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We will to write our legends in blood, sweat, and tears.

Leaving tales to be told by our children’s children. 

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The tribes of the wasteland.

The coyotes, wolves, and dog soldiers. Will you be among them?