Introduction:
In a world increasingly defined by noise, contradiction, and control, there are still voices that speak not to provoke, but to awaken. The reflections shared here are not those of a politician or a strategist, but of an American citizen who has lived long enough to observe patterns, hypocrisy, and the quiet erosion of freedoms once taken for granted. It is the perspective of someone who chose, years ago, to strip life back to what felt “normal”—free from stimulants, free from artificial pressures, and closer to an honest state of being.
The irony of modern society, he argues, lies in what it chooses to regulate and what it freely allows. Substances that alter the mind are sold openly, while others remain prohibited under moral pretenses that feel inconsistent at best. This contradiction, however, is only a symptom of a larger problem: a nation tangled in double standards across industries such as oil, timber, agriculture, and manufacturing. According to this view, America has the resources and the workforce to thrive—particularly its farmers—but lacks the honesty and unity to make it happen. Instead, energy is wasted on division and unnecessary conflict.
For him, music has always been the most honest form of communication. Through song, he has shared what he has learned about life, freedom, and responsibility. Yet in this “new world” of instant communication, written editorials have become just as powerful. Surprisingly, these essays now attract as much attention as his music, offering another outlet to speak plainly to people who trust his intentions. That trust comes from credibility—not the manufactured kind associated with political power, but the kind earned by consistency, patriotism, and lived experience.
Since a defining national tragedy reshaped the global landscape, he believes America has lost more than its sense of security; it has lost a piece of its confidence. Fear has replaced pride. Surveillance has replaced trust. Citizens, once encouraged to stand tall, now feel pushed to retreat—“under the porch,” as he puts it—whenever alarms are raised. He questions whether this constant state of fear truly protects freedom, or slowly dismantles it.
What troubles him most is the sense of manipulation shared across political lines. Republican or Democrat, many Americans feel controlled rather than represented. The question is not who is right, but how long a people known as “the warriors of the world” will tolerate feeling powerless in their own land. He believes they will not—not indefinitely.
Yet his vision is not one of chaos or rebellion, but renewal. Perhaps, he muses, even the planet itself needs a reset—a pause to regain balance. Whether through nature or human awakening, he senses change coming. And when it does, he imagines doing what he has always done: getting back on his feet, turning the bus around, and continuing down the road—still speaking, still playing, still free.
In the end, this is not just a critique of America, but a reminder of what it once was—and what it still could be.