(This is satirical - the thoughts of whomever 
holds the bullhorn in a violent mob.)  

           I inflame, motivate, and manipulate you – the mob. The herd. I escalate tension as my opportunity for self-promotion. I slam the system and The Man, and my act is performance art: the street is my limelight, my open mic: my stage, my rules.
           I negate and repudiate Doctor King’s quiet efforts toward peace and love through nonviolent, systematic change. Screw his message of patience, virtue, and ethics! I thrive on name recognition, superstar status, and world fame. Forget logic, reason, wisdom, tolerance, or understanding. My power lies in my diatribe, my persuasiveness, my bullhorn. My charisma exhorts anarchy, rioting, and looting. My talent drives the baser passions of civil unrest. I transform peaceful assembly into mob violence. I steer you toward your own destruction.
           I’m not truly filled with hate, or anger at the status quo. I know in my soul that in time, what’s best for humanity will be integrated and embraced on its own merit, not from my fiery rap, metaphor, or rhetoric. My loudest voice expresses my deepest insecurities – my psychotic fears of disapproval, rejection, irrelevance, and abandonment. “Social injustice!” is metaphor for my selfish wants, my childhood tantrums extending into adulthood, and my desperate cry for the spotlight.
           My vanity compels me to build your tension. My performance convinces you that violence is the exercise of your right to survive. Your rage, hate and destruction are my applause. Kudos to me: I’ve got you hooked! You’re giving me the attention I crave – NOW!

–Will Walsh, 2015