The latent rebellion, whose roots are deeply anchored in the Gallic soil which are lost in the abyssal identity meanders of a French society, projected into the abysses of a world to come which is already ours, has lived; just like parliamentarism, a vestige of Athenian rhetoric resounding in the corridors of a palace where only its gilding recalls that there was a time when democracy passed through the meridian, the city and the people.
A deadly policy, therefore, lying fallow, desertified after the power has conquered it insidiously to better devour it from within.
The Macronian sequence is not that of millions of French people immersed in a conflict shaking the entire country. Incarceration, violence, and death are now the outlets and the lifeline for all those who will oppose this march leading the population at a charge, willingly or by force, toward the next stage that awaits them.
The time is no longer for dialogue or for consensus, but for the submission of a people, who will have to bend, even if it means killing each other without knowing that they will do so to serve the interests of those they believe in fighting against.
The more the country resists, the more the government will be powerful, and will deprive of liberty this same subservient people until they come to confuse the sand with the water and drink it to the dregs, abandoning themselves to a power, thus feeding on the substance of these congeners, until they throw themselves at the feet of their jailers to beg them to spare them and let them live in an open-air prison.
There will therefore be no answers to the pleas of the rioters as well as to all those who stand up, invisible in the face of power.
The upheavals of French society are no more than the reflection of an inverted image where the warriors of yesterday, will be virtually chained, forming long endless lines lost in the smoke of apocalyptic cities, disfigured by concave mirrors of wizards of Oz and other architects of nothingness leading them to bottomless precipices.
