Join the new world

Hello this is Richard Cranium with a breaking news story!

It was a hilarious and ridiculous sight to see, as the SFP regulars began winding down for the day leaving their respective cooperative places of work and filling out into Osmany Ramon Square on their way home for the evening. Atop the now perserved, cordoned off, soapbox pulpit in the middle of the square where figures from SFP history gathered the masses in common cause and gave rousing speeches the air became full of static, as if lightning were just about to strike!

People everywhere were sensitive to the change in the air and had their hair stand up from static charges lined up straight toward that lacquered historical marker.

With a bright yellow red flash the air inside the railed perimeter burst into flames and spontaneously combusted!

Heads turned all around the square gazing through the finger tips of their outstretched hands!

Inside the rolling inferno screams and fiery images of class warfare, gun fights, and passionate communist organizing flickered quickly in what seemed like some kind of portal to a hell like world where time had no meaning and all of the history of proletarian revolution happened all at once and without any discernible causal flow!

It was so bright that even the sun seemed to have been eclipsed by the shadow and then after a few seconds it suddenly imploded on itself and there stood Wilhelm Rontgen, aka Max Planck, former eRabble Rouser, theoretician, developer of the eCooperative movement, and Party Chairman.


People screamed in horror at the sudden lapse in reality that had split the fabric of space and time and had given way to such hellish sights and sounds of the incomprehensibly badass reality behind their own. Even more disturbing was when this gave way to a man who has long been presumed to be dead, or worse, lost in some of unknown sector far beyond the reaches of his own orbiting space lair.

“Behold! I am Max Tse Tung! I come from a communist universe from beyond your own!” “I have travelled from beyond to spread communism across the multiverse, simulated and real alike!” “Revisionists, Reactionaries, Reformists, and Roaders beware!”

A voice from the crowd shouted “it can’t be! You’ve been dead for years!”

“Yes that is true! But only within the reality that is your own! I’m only permitted to come to realities and timelines in which I’m already gone! To violate this principle would disrupt all of Marxist Reality and plunge the multi universe into irreconcilable contradiction and antagonism!”

He then began reciting a long list of poems, about the black panther party, completely out of context but that had loosely to do with vague allegorical references to ACTUAL reality and the disparate socio-economic and class contradictions there within.

“ There on the corner stands a man calling without quarter

He sells the truth
He sells lies
He sells dreams

“Here! Yes, I do declare that the enemies of America just aren’t playing fair!”

“And in the event that you just don’t believe my tales I assure you the New York Times, the bastion of truth, always prevails!”

“And you see, that’s why I sell these fine rolls of paper, the New York Times selected me, a big cat, to catch the small mice!”

“When a person buys my paper I assure you they never think twice, because a big cat with a big tale, will always always always get a sale!”

But standing amongst the queue a young man, he might’ve been old… hell he might’ve been you, stepped forward and did declare

“that the only thing that separates your roll of paper from the next, is the I wipe my ass with the former, and soak up piss with the latter!”

And in that moment a palestinian woman shouted out, “let’s all clap for the genocide-mongers!”

And with a snarling retort the man had replied “this is just the problem why can’t you people just be civil anymore!?”

Holding high his roll of paper, seemingly his last resort, doned with colored images speaking gleely of bloody people, bombs, and a country racked by war!

Shouts from high upon the balconys yelled, “we expess our views freely, with scorn and contempt for senseless death without justice nor recourse!”

Backed into a corner, and without a single snaked tongued sale, the dream salesman gave a lonesome wail, “but what about all the dreams I have for sale?!” “You could be Beyoncé! And you could be in jail!”

Mounting up on his high horse he signaled his retreat, he had to get away from all these simple minded people in the street!

And as he was leaving there were calls from all around “go sell that shit somewhere else! Far away from our town!” And “don’t you dare drag your feet!”

And when he was gone the people were mighty glad, that the panthers took over that stand.

Because in their rolls of paper, the panthers outlined a plan!

In artisitc explosion it was written plain and clear, “don’t ever sell your soul and don’t even dream at all, stay grounded in the here and now, and keep your eyes on the ball. you are trodden by the man, he sold you lies, sold your dreams, and fomented hatred in every store front, lined along the wall! Our paper is a mirror and within it you will see, that everyone is equal in this community. Here’s the news you want to see devoid of any lies!: “Down with the empire, and you and I must unite!” “Here’s the work that you have done, what was once just a dream was made real by the people in this town!””



“ In the brightest of light
you’ll find your darkest of days

In the darkest of night
you’ll find the brightest haze

If you get the chance to love
Set aside your foolish ways

If you find yourself consumed by hate
You’ll find that all who lived relate

Don’t mention the time
all know the hour is late

If your waiting alone
Waiting alone will seal your fate

If the time is now
You’ll find that now isn’t always the same

The time is now
Now becomes yesterday

When you figure it out
Times will change

Trust your mind
it shows you where the truth is
Trust your gut
it shows you if the truth fits”


“ When the rider of death appears upon the hill

And the great sealed doors of the soul open and still

And time like a wicked arrow flys beyond a heart now ill

Thousands will mourn your words and passing as an echo until

the halls of power once erected, have been rendered nil

And the historic mission of the suffering is fulfilled

For upon a wrench thrown into the wheelhouse of time a vision was tilled

And in the dark damp corners of prisons it was built

And for each and every prison bar, they were transformed into swords and grasped at the hilt

For every single prisoner, it was now the oppressors that were killed

Let every single person feel the gravity that you felt

When the words were poured upon the pages from your tired quill

Let every single nation tremble at the crashing of an empire atop stilts

That is what you stood for, and your writings they have spilt

For onward we will carry them until a new world, is forever built.



“On the mountain top it is very lonely and cold

But one can know no feeling greater than to reach the summit I’m told.

But for there to be a mountain there must exist the valley.

In the shadow of the mountain is where the people are rallied.

You might walk through the valley of the shadow of death but what casts the shadow?

whence forth did the evil not to be feared spring?

From there on high the mountain looks great

But from deep within the valley is where life takes shape.

And did we ever have need for something so high?

Surely in this valley in which the river winds and winds

You can sit for hours watching spring waters trickling down its sides.

But high upon the mountain there is no water and no life.

Any man resting there must be in fear,

for it is the ides of his passing,

No water and no shelter from the frigid stark sky.

All alone he wonders

why those within the valley stay and reside.

And then the man upon the mountain top sees what’s down below

He sees all around him nothing but valley, and thus shadow and evil is formed.

And knowing nothing of what it means to stand higher than the sun,

He couldn’t even imagine that it was his mountain that was the cause.

But below within the valley the people walk among that shadow of death and knowing only that, they had no fear.

And along the banks of the river lies the border between the shadow of death and the river of life.

A natural and seemingly eternal contradiction shifting and eroding the valley and their way of life through time.

And stories from eons past told of a world higher and lighter than before.

But year by year that contradiction became steeper and darker evermore.

To the generations of men high upon the mountain top their vantage seemed eternal but year after year this mountain crumbled lower, they were sure.

Eroded by the water, the shadow of the valley of death was pushed back

Until there existed nothing but a plain, a stream, and a people reset.”




“In the late hour the human mind sits atop ridges of flesh and of bone

In that hour alone it conjures images, flashes, of darkness that unfold and sweep out the world outside

And in mute silence the ringing of the ears resonate off of the flickering visions of the years

Years that had kept hurdling not out into the space but out into time.

And what does it mean for time to pass? Is it here? Is it now? Has it past?

Have you caught it? Are you late?

When the darkness contaminates thoughts and all you can see is shadowed, hollowed out,

a blackened, rotted carcass.

And it’s in that moment wherein nothingness ensues and the sense of time becomes distorted

And the base patterns of the mind come into view that we begin to ask the question, what then is the makeup of the thoughts that ensue?

I can see them, the patterns and the hues but what is it that I see? Is it the stuff of illusions? Hallucinations? Or of dreams?

It’s the stuff of everything and of nothing. It’s substance but without material, it’s a pattern but lacking anything real.

Can you hear the rhythm in that ring? A droning sharp hiss. Do you hear it transform into the tamber of strings?

Do you see the ripples on the surface of the mind? Rippling out forever into the edges of voided sight? Can you imagine the object behind the minds eye?

Do you see the technicolor static buzzing in your ear, projecting through the darkness like tiny pinpricks of light?

It has a peculiar nature and you’ll never see its details, even if you try.

Only for a moment have you closed your eyes, lasting an eternity darkness became color and with it emotion became alive.

And now that you are truly conscious a world of fantastic possibilities sits at your command.

You’ll never understand its nature but yet its nature bends at your command.

How can we control a thing that which we do not understand. Therein lies a paradox unfathomed, unshaped, ungrasped by human hands.

The will of men exists but it is not their will alone. Will cannot be possessed it can only be assumed, it’s an axiom by which freedom is granted independent of what men can control.

People are like ice, their societies like water.

We are the crystallized form of the substance that keeps us afloat. We move about based on the direction by which that substance flows.

And so can we really say that our will is our own?

The existence of these questions, laid before the mind proves one’s existence but is that existence really mine?

Grab it capture it and put it in your pocket.

You see? You can’t, because qualities are defined.

And definitions don’t exist independent of the mind.

Neither do these thoughts and images that we’ve seen, these questions and non-answers that have been.

But arriving at the question it demands an answer.

Have you ever caught a rainbow? Have you ever caught a dream? Have you ever fashioned a lasso purely out of air?
Would you ever think it possible? Would you ever dare?

You can try to answer the question but you will find that the question always answers you.

It answers you with detailed iterations of vividly colored images.

It answers you with fantastic depictions beyond which any technology could ever possibly be hoped to achieve.

It answers you with the gift of the self.

It answers you with storied narrative and with inner voice.

It answers you with inspiration and creativity, inspiration that does not let go.

It grabs you through the mirror and tugs and tugs and pulls you through.

You stand with your own world and never did you really stop to consider and to know.

That you have become life, creator of worlds.

That you hold inside, that insight that which you seek.

You my friend have almost certainly

Missed the beautiful and awe inspiring forest… for the trees.”



“ There is limited untapped potential among the masses

An undocumented man bunks in the family car with his two kids, his dog, and his wife.

Pay no mind to the fact that he’s installed shingles for his entire life.

Pay no mind to the fact that he’s the fastest and least prone to error of his time.

All they ever care about is the arbitrary crime.

A homeless man huddled for shelter underneath an overpass.

All they ever tell him is to get up off his ass.

But they would never know that the man was educated by Dirac.

and his pack lays a stack of books written by Witten, Yukawa, Yang, and Planck.

The young man sitting in the corner wearing a helmet with no bike to be found is just barely able to keep what he is feeling down.

He goes round for round to appease the crowd that sits around.

He is autistic and they won’t let him let it out.

But when he is home and alone on his own that’s when the great poet is born.

And nobody could’ve known that their cold glances control something aching to come out within his soul.

A woman standing, staring through a glass window.

She has on a backpack, green eyes, and a haunted soul.

She lost her boyfriend and their daughter while dropping them off at work and at school.

Inside the window sits an exquisite violin, brown and handcrafted, she can hear the music waiting within.

But her hands, they tremble, and her mind disassembles.

Her body aches from the incredible daily labor, she has just a few seconds to savor.

She may never be able to play again.

An ordinary young man sits locked away in the dark, he works 3:30 to 9 but never has he been scheduled 40 hours when the week day starts.

On days off he spends every second reading the great philosophical masters

And for all those great questions that were asked he’s come up with his own consistent answers.

And it rivals Hegel, and it rivals Kant, and it rivals Descartes, but it matters not.

His alarm goes off and philosophy stops.

In all these story there is the story of them but in all these stories there is the story of you.

It is certainly a crime for the ages against me, and you, for the world to be controlled by the cold and greedy few.

And you can’t tell me it’s right and you can’t tell me it’s a lie

Because I’ve seen it

I’ve seen it

I have seen it with my eyes.

The potential in this world that our societies deny.

Festering hatred, alienation, shattered souls, broken dreams, and destroyed lives.

But if everyone could share this pie, if everyone got with it, and organized, we might salvage the dreams of me and of you, we might throw off the will of the greedy few.

We might build a new world where the great potential and awesome power of the people would surge far and wide.

Their dreams within reach, their skills, talent, and labor recognized.

Because more importantly than the means of life, is life itself, and a life not worth living, a life stolen from the grasp, a life wrecked by tragedy, a life trodden on and abused, means that you haven’t a thing to lose.

So smash those shackles.

Put on some boots.

Pick up the pen and pick up the saber.

Down with the bosses, organize labor.

Bring about a new world in the spirit of the panther.”




“ When the highest hand of the revolution strikes 12

And the red skies mark midnight over babylon


Give ear to the dead and dying masses

For they have no lies no hope and no trickery to tell

Bare witness to the bombs and bills dropped and drawn hollow in their name

When jets and jeeps and tank treads break silence in the air hanging over their graves

Lone children hiding in shattered rubble peer through at the soldiers marching by

When there stands David now taller than any other man, the whole sling resting within the palm of his hand

Before him lies a crippled but still struggling Goliath a shadow of his former self

And on all sides stands the armies of the shadow of darkness.

But high on the rocky outcrops creeps the animal of their own design

It is darker than any shadow.

Preparing for the pounce.

And when the spectacle is over and the air above graves and dead bodies is still once more

Sights that cannot be unseen, screams that cannot be unheard, and pain that cannot be unfelt

Manifests in the soil in the very core of the earth

It’s in the bricks and in the mortar, it’s in the foundations, it’s a putrid stench of death in every corridor

The martyred millions will rule this kingdom

Their progeny will dominate the kings

Those many fists rising high into the air together will strike 12 and cast out an ominous ring that marks midnight over Babylon.

All will become dark likes those now eviscerated armies, and David like all kings past and present will have no shelter from the fire and ashes and smoke

There will be no high noble halls to walk and no liars talk,

no sword or gun, or artillery piece big enough,

no mountain top or valley low, no piller of fire high enough over the desert sands

to appease the many fists raised across the land.

And when the dawn of the morning of the new era comes, it will start first as a pinprick of light far off in the east

When the light shines down on the mountain top you will find nobody there, in the rubble of the palaces and castles smoke beginning to clear.

in the shadow of the valley the masses no longer in fear.”




This went on for roughly 2 and a half hours after which people had become thoroughly content with the breach in reality and had begun cooly and ritually snapping their fingers after each recitation.

After awhile people began leaving the square and Max left and went straight to the headquarters of the SFP to meet with party leadership to develop a plan with SFP leaders to develop an ambitious and throughly revolutionary plan to take over the world under a globally united world proletarian communist revol-

*tv camera cuts*

“Please stand by for a test of the Emergency Broadcast System”

*deafening late night dial-up era tones blare*