From where does our love of tradition originate? I couple our love of tradition with a fear of change; a fear of irregularity. A fear rooted so deep that we now fashion it a virtue. Our integral need for protocol has left us abandoned by the dynamics which breathed life into this world so many years ago. Originality, innovation, and progress have been exchanged for a faux security; a security built on precedent and a pretense of immortality where there is none. The will to live another day is wasted. History is change, and there is only change; the legacy to which we sign our hearts with the blood of our enemies.

Change, not in vain or for war's sake, but for our sake. My description offers only a poetic hyperbole for what truly haunts us; for war cannot change our nature. We have adopted the surreal, and so far removed ourselves from our passions that among us so little can be found unique. Our hubris is so flooded with archetypes of loyalty and respect that we lose true loyalty: the loyalty to ourselves. We are born into a world with the fullest potential for destiny; yet we relinquish that destiny in a matter of hours, resigning ourselves to an existence of subhuman quality. I see no error in petty crimes, drug runs, or killing; I remark only upon that which isn't defined in numbers. That entity; that soul within us remains immeasurable by statistics. It is what drives us to speak, act, and fight for who we are and what we want. But we have hollowed ourselves as our nature rejects our soul.

If you wished to seek out the perpetrator of this change in nature, you need only look in a mirror. Organizations aren't even filled with "yes" men, but livestock of not enough value to even ask the question. There is no differentiation in the compositions of leaders and men; only their motion. Those without motion are simply treading water while the real men explore the depths, heights, and widths of our world; challenging problems with solutions and tradition with reform. Where are the men of consequence? Where are the men of import? Where is the passion which so readily fueled the fires of war in our past yet cannot lift us from what we have become? War changes nothing. What we need is men. Not machines, not cattle. Men.

Find the passion which has so passively ran in your veins, and bring forth the drive to birth something of originality. Our world has been so degraded to one of statistics and numbers. Rescue the significance of our humanity and be granted the power which thrives within it. End this addiction to formalities that has so plagued the road of progress, and be rewarded with your place in history.

Shit's getting old, yo. Do something different. Do something original. Be creative; explore what this world can offer you.