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The legend of the woke warrior

Imagine residing in the comforting cradle of your REM cycle, a deep yet dreamless sleep. Your breathing is even and your heart beat is pacing at a constant thud. Lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub. Then suddenly you sense an intrusion that disrupts your peace. A pair of hands seizes your shoulders, hoists you up by your cotton pajama sleeves and thrashes you about. You are jolted awake without warning and without your consent. Before leaving you to recollect yourself, a floating mouth appears between the phantom hands and utters:

You better stay woke, brother/sister/comrade/cadre/leader!