It was the fucking stone age man. It was a fucking jungle where survival of the meanest was the only natural law. The tribal drums carried only bad news and they beat both night and day. I had it easy, compared to some. I could hide behind a facsimile of something like tough, but more like crazy - crazy enough to sow confusion among my enemies.
I had no voice to call my own. Just borrowed fragments beaten into my hide by a thousand ignorant teachers. My words held no kudos. They were young words - easily dismissed as naïve, but I knew there had to be a better way.
I never really changed. I’m as naive as ever. Nothing ever changes. The jungle drums keep beating. Everything is broken. Everything is stolen. Nothing is new under the sun. That innocent ideal - the dream of peace – some notion of justice - exists only in the mind. The reality is just meat and gristle and the sound of the drums.