Going Rogue With Caitlin Johnstone

"I want my legs back," the girl cried in Arabic. "I want my legs back." You can't have your legs back, little girl. They have been eaten by a hungry machine who needs them for fuel to power its gears. The machine needs your legs to keep the sky raining bombs and to make its death robots fly. Your legs power the bulldozers digging mass graves and the tanks blowing holes in the hospitals. A glorious kingdom is held together by the amputated limbs of children. A pentagon-shaped castle is built from the bones of the amputated limbs of children. Wall Street werewolves and bank boys dine on the amputated limbs of children. Movie stars treat their wrinkles with creams made from the amputated limbs of children. Suburban families prop up their smiles with the amputated limbs of children. The news man lies and in his eyes you see the amputated limbs of children. The podium man smirks and between his teeth are the amputated limbs of children. And the little girl cries, and the news man ignores her, and the podium man