I hate Ginger Ale, but it helps with my stomach.

So I’m not sure who has been following this story-line, its all a bit past old Mitch at this point.  Basically, technology is beating the standard powers (Egypt, Probably Lebanon, Corporations, England (soft), Bay Area Rapid Transit , and more) in a power battle of technology versus the “traditional powers”.

In my day power was money and money was power. People who knew the right people, and banged in the right circles, held the respect of the masses. Sure they twisted the tit of respect and knowledge, but they called the big plays.. and order was maintained. Construct a lie here, create a big cover up there, and bury every do-gooder politician, socialist politician, and folk singer that felt the peace and welfare of the common man was a strong rallying point. Ultimately, the government and big money swayed the people.

The Steward said the ginger ale should help with the nerves (in my day a stewardess was somewhere between Raquel Welch and Barbara Eden).

Sure it was an oligarchy, but the average EU/American executive could still fly to vegas and let the animal loose. The Oligarchy was strong, and used respected state officers to make important moves. These moves were not made by the average soldier, they were made by individual agents, knights in the chess game of life. People like Chuck thought they could save the “free” world with an assault rifle and four million dollar helicopter.. they were blind, pieces in a larger plan.

Sure the powerful are still powerful, but something big is stirring. Now, the average zit faced punk could be organizing the next big social protest, or maintaing an anonymous group of hackers hell bent on attacking financial organizations- all through the power of social media and a 3.5 inch lcd screen. Is technology more powerful than your average joe state? Is it a sharp thorn in the most powerful organizations side? You better believe it.

Still I wonder-

a gentleman in back of the plane is rising. He is approaching fast, looking straight at me.. a second has risen in row 17 seat c- hes reaching in his jacket. I have 6.3 seconds until hand-to-hand combat.

The edge of mountains are erupting in the warm summer sun. The wind whips through my unshaven beard, and my anxious stomach now lies securely in my throat. As I careen towards a dark and jagged landscape, I can’t help but question some fundamental aspects of my escape.

What would have happened if I had not kicked out that door, and packed a chute under my hoodie? How close was that shot? Would I have died? What if those two men had taken me, would they kill me? Would they question me.. then kill me? Could I have disabled them? Do I care anymore? The ground is getting mighty close.. I struggle to grab the cord, and pull hard. 

Guess old Mitch is getting treated to another sunrise. Still that ground is coming in fast.. maybe tomorrow Ill tell you more about my sunny life running pelts and chasing tail.

Sent from my iPhone.