WANDERING THE DREAM OF MAIN STREET (my Dew) 
Cristián Warnken Thursday October 2, 2008
Main Street
They told us that was about to be paradise on earth, but we fall before our very eyes the "indestructible" Berlin Wall.
They told us that our cities were impregnable to terror, but we saw how the towers fell Twin rain turned into ashes.
They told us there would be no recession, which handled the finances alone, but we saw how the world's stock plummeted, as the wall, like the towers, as our dreams.
They are Wall Street. We're Main Street, the street, reality, men of flesh and bone, rising in the morning with an illusion, which go out to give all the sweat of their brows. We are those who weep or sing, we buy, taxpayers: those who "contribute" to our own lives upon the altars that they have raised.
And this is so since straight and we had to go hunting and fighting the cold, hunger and shortages. NN are the Neanderthal, Moscow, Santiago and New York. One day, long ago, they separated us and said: "We are the wizards, experts, magicians of the tribe. Give us your freedom." Sometimes they make us appear in a statistical graph, then we forget and ignore, and we passionately love again when elections approach. We are the ones who pay taxes, which finance their wars.
We give our faith and our savings, play with it at the casino, bet, crazy orgies of unbridled speculation and profiteering. They tell us now brought into the abyss again, and again ask us to go to their rescue. They do not shudder to put at risk the efforts of all our lives, so often denied us water and salt, and now, kneeling, we implore mercy.
Before an egalitarian society promised us and made us slaves of totalitarian hell. After convinced us that the market was the panacea for all human problems. Now we say the state has to save them. To them, the speculators.
always have speculated. Before speculating with political and philosophical theories. Now speculating in the stock values. Always have speculated with our lives, our blood, our dreams and our savings. And, like a flock hypnotized again and again, ended up following the cliff of the theory, which has nothing to do with the rough reality. They
yesterday, were the Party, State, God. Now Wall Street, the Market God. We're Main Street, the street, the shawl, the underdogs. Our grandparents suffered recessions in the flesh born of her unbridled ambition, and have always exceeded the limits of reality. It has taken us decades to recover from its economic and political experiments of his lies, his excesses. And now they claim that they also pay their last spree?
What would happen if we do not, and we drop this time, to know also what is the defeat and fear? What if we do not vote for them in the next election, and took our savings and put them away under the mattress, as did our grandmothers? What if we throw all at the same time, their usurious credit cards to the sea?
Yes, they fall once, you finally see the naked truth and not subsidized by our sweat and blood. That they get down your Olympus to Main Street, walk our streets, to sweat, to mourn and laugh with us, learn that there are stations that everything has its cycle, its rhythm, its limits. That fall the masks, and giant with feet of clay finally give the face of the great puppeteers Nothing!
Or return to give them a more-oh, patient herd-our coins and our faith?
