They will continue the conversation that began long before us and persist to continue even after we are gone and perhaps even when their tongues are cut out. The priests of speech—storytellers from entirely different ages— without the fear of losing time, almost fearlessly. Amid fleeting turmoil, at the moment of premature finish, or never finishing at all—especially during the brutal suppression of another peaceful demonstration - in a moment when history is out of joint, utterly detached from time, almost timelessly.

When their deadline for action expires, they will say, “Revolution.”

They will envision a place for their act—the Bastille Fortress, the Winter Palace, Tbilisi, or the crowded Tahrir Square.

1789? 1917? 1989? 2011?

Does it even matter?