Grit your teeth- we aren't out yet.
For what behemoth entity could be responsible for the despair of billions? Where in the Society of Man lies the freedom of regression? With every passing day slumberously waving us through, our fathers and grandfathers and great grandfathers utter not in the presence of gaiety, of peaks, but rather of valleys: "Our time will come." Yes, a great time is upon us, my friends. Too long has the vibrant color of life been blanded and perversed so that we are left with a stale white. While existence becomes fortified more and more within the bounds of our internet, we come to fast from our humanity- tho a lonely farmer still tends his crops, the musician still beckons at the first sign of natural inspiration, and the trees still grow ever taller above us.
A great time upon us, indeed.
So breathe not the air into your lungs- breathe the flesh and blood around you, for those lost souls, whose reality's fleeting and intangible, whose solace never culminates, shall welcome Rapture, and marvel at his prosperity in its wake. For our generation, it is the year of our Lord two thousand and twelve. A mark not from our traditional calendar years, but more like a feeling- a stale taste in the mouths of babes. An apocalypse? Not entirely. A return to normalcy, perhaps. The very same return that burned in Rome, that crusaded in Royal England, or even the very same that stood on the shoulders of the British, French, and Americans in our second World War. Our rapture will not be from religion or Gods, but from you and me; from a burning necessity that has until now been unknown to the new youth. After all, it is not in our nature to stand low to the ground in a hailstorm. Turn your eyes ever-upwards, and welcome the New Birth, for we cannot live in the image of our grandfathers and great grandfathers, and so on. No need to join us, it has already begun.