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Yes, America, we understand. We understand that we are fully owned and operated by the Global Lubrication Cartel, and that no matter whom we elect, the Cartel gets its blood tribute. We understand the deepest duplicity of the oleocracy and how every transaction is predicated upon slippery slides of money from fist to palm, from power to the powerful while the world watches the last migration of monarchs, the last song of the warbler, the last tumored frog. We get how men wash their hands of the dirt of tomorrow with the deep satisfaction of a job well done, the swampland dug, the birdsong gone. We understand, America, the global reach of global arms, crude lubrication across benzine seas, from pipeline to shoreline to market shares. We understand that vast landscape tracts are only images from Landsats passed, the boreal, the vernal, the prairie grass, the soil hugging roots in rich stew blown away washed away in gully blast. Yes, America! We know what we are when we bangpipe the deep wells down into the crushing rock, blasting a toxic cola for the cleanest gas. We are America! We are strong, and we are free!

We sip luxury water from screw cap lids, awaiting the judge's stern report. These cats, the MICATS, the Cats from Kalamazoo, the three women with lockbox chains under robot arms implacable in front of the bulldozer's insistent push: those enemies of the state, those three, are in felonious company, each to each. Those three, who protested a river of toxins released into dying water deserve prison in the society of imprisonment. Big House America, we know who you are! Discipline and punish, two to three years or the green dragon will rise through gasland's ashes and slouch towards suburbia. You can't mention Enbridge context in the county courthouse. You can't mention the largest landspill in a history of toxic histories, its putrid sludge still uncleaned by our trusted corporation caring only for your safety and stock portfolio. You can't mention your own asthma from the Marathon Refinery three miles from your home, your hard breathing in the humid cricket nights of August. The law cuts and packages your case like the meat in the freezer box, divorced from the slaughterhouse, orderly and clean. Those criminal three await sentencing from the judge's hard gavel in early March. But today, today in the courts of Michigan and the eyes of the law, they were guilty as charged from the judge's high perch. Trespassing and obstruction, slowing construction, fomenting disruption.

Environmentalism is the new Communism, and motherfucking rage is the state of the State.

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