Election Speech I'm Lee Workman, and I run for a position in student council. The topic of my discourse is of prime importance, therefore, him who has ears, let him hear. It is a sad and gloomy day when honorable men must walk among the rank and odoriferous vapours of heedless conformity and social stagnation. The "Great American Dream" has become the great American cesspool, and world order is world chaos. But these things matter little to the bodies stacked in a suburban morgue called G.W. Our experiences are censored and our worry limited. Frustration arises from negligable physical or mental challenge. We, as students here, are a product of a twentieth century culture based on destruction. We are molded and guided by a dead culture so that we, too, will be dead. A culture whose guiding principles include genocide, terrestrial sacrilege on an unprecedented scale, and massive waste of beauty, life, and resources. Blinded by past abundance and future technology, we stumble toward the grave. These are principles and goals which I neither understand nor agree with, economic laws which dictate world rape. And we are guilty, for we have knowledge. These things I have observed, and in them lies our destruction. We open our eyes to witness the total devastation of profound art, a culmination of the ages, and we hear with our ears the roar of a fast-approaching end. We breathe, and smell the nauseous fumes of human degradation and cultural decay, and we taste in the mouth the bitter wages of material drunkenness and artificial surfiet. Tomorrow will be the monumental hangover, when we will spew forth our poisons. And we are expected to thrive, even in death? But none of it matters, for we go to G.W. High School, and we are insulated from the shock by the bodies of the people underneath us, we feel it not, We go to G.W. High School, and we party, and we die. 1,2,3; A,B,C. We take refuge in youth. Ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is obligation. To know these things is to be burdened with them, and only by faith can we overcome them. But that shall not be, That is the way I feel. I want to leave, but here I am, with the blood of the earth on my hands, and I am a slave. I attempt to sever the links, but I am hopelessly chained to the sinking ship. This culture has tried to assimilate me, so I am like it, but I yet retain life. I try to be honest and speak my version of truth, claiming nothing as fact, but rather, educated conjecture, and opinion on my part is noted as such. These things I have seen with my mind, but it matters not, for everything is planned, and there is no remedy which we shall ever grasp. I know not, I see little, yet I have filled the air with my words. Let him who has understanding hear them. Thank-you. Maharimi Karotlovitch, May, 1976