Remember, Remember...

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason, and plot,
I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
To blow up the King and Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow;

By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys,
God save the King! Hip hip hoorah!

This will be a day for me that lives on forever for two reasons.

First, and not the least of which, is Guy Fawkes. Talk about your baddass human beings, he was ready to blow a sacred space to the stars to show the world that something was wrong. I got to share this day with people who appreciate it for the first time today, and for that this day will live on in my heart forever.

But also, I can say that I was in Grant Park, in Chicago, when the word came. And the voices shouted from the throng, “Yes we did!”

And half the world heard the orgasmic cry of, “Oh, thank god!”

I shared this moment with those self-same fellows, geeks, nerds, revolutionaries all, men who understood and appreciated not only what was happening just then, but what had happened on this day so many years ago.

And from our voices, through the night, came the chorus of sea chantes, sung in three different keys, no harmony, but as in motion as the sea itself. Wandering through the streets of a nation in the midst of a revelation, a city drunk with joy.

Palpable, seamless, unrelenting joy.

Happy Guy Fawkes Day. Fuck yeah.