They'll ask us about that Tuesday night. What'd we do, who'd we fight.
And we'll all just smirk and say: You shoulda seen the party.
Tonight will be one for the ages. The angst of a year that fracked our humanity culminating in a (metaphorical?) orgy, celebrating all that it means to be a vibrant member of this great nation, of this great species. An evening of herbal release and undulating waves of dropped beats. 1
We’ll be upfront: we hope you'll vote for her. This thing is just getting started — soon we’ll be voting for ourselves, for the daughters and sons of Bernie and Barack — but even the cluster we live in today is so terribly fragile.
But we get it. Vote your truth.
Just please: vote.
Do it for selfish reasons. As a generation of entrepreneurs we owe it to ourselves to recognize the opportunity laid before us: a chance to roar a warning that we are a generation not to be fucked with, that the self-fulfilling apathy prescribed by a complicit media has no place here.
You can't buy that kind of branding.
Vote. Do it for noble reasons, because they will ask: where you were, what you thought, what you did. And you will be able to speak from a place of action and conviction, not a mushy mouthful of good intentions.
Vote. Do it because climbing out of a hole is easier when it isn’t made of molten quicksand.
Vote. Do it because one way or another, all of us will remember tonight forever.
You’re all invited. No one’s checking tickets at the door. And don’t fret if the honorable weight of responsibility keeps you from a night of bumping like Bacchus. You’ll be right there with us, seeing what we see.
Just vote. Hold your breath. Then share it with the world.
Be safe; look out for you and for those too ecstatic to.