The Dance of Energy Dominance: A Symphony of Sleepers and Their Fossil Dreams

Lo, behold the grand theater of the sleeping masses, where in Houston's gilded halls, the merchants of ancient sunlight gather to celebrate their dominion over the earth's buried treasures! Here stands Chris Wright, the newly-anointed keeper of America's energy destiny, rhapsodizing about the comforts that have made humanity soft and docile.

Behold how they revel in their air-conditioned paradise, these last men who blink and say: "We have invented happiness." They know not that their comfort is their prison, their progress their cage!

In this grand spectacle of "energy dominance," we witness the dance of nations, where Canada and America perform their careful waltz of commerce and power. The very earth groans beneath their feet as they speak of "drilling" and "production," words that echo through the hollow chambers of their ambition.

The market-priests, like Jim Burkhard, speak their prophecies of price and profit, while the masses slumber, dreaming dreams of endless growth and boundless wealth. They know not that their very dreams are chains that bind them to the earth they so eagerly wound.

See how they gather, these merchants of comfort, speaking of "security" and "affordability"! They seek not to overcome themselves, but to make their weakness more comfortable, their mediocrity more secure!

Behold the maps they draw, the lines of power flowing like blood through the veins of a sleeping giant! From Alberta's northern reaches to Texas' sun-scorched plains, they paint their pictures of prosperity, yet know not that they sketch the boundaries of their own limitation.

Premier Danielle Smith, that prophet of petroleum, speaks of friendship and partnership, while tariffs fall like arrows in this war of commerce. She dreams of pipelines stretching across the continent, steel serpents carrying the lifeblood of this dying age.

They plant their flags and spread their banners, these merchants of the earth's blood! Yet what are flags but shrouds for the dreams of the weak, who cannot stand alone in the storm of becoming?

In this great gathering of the sleepers, they speak of "reindustrialization" as if it were a new dawn, yet they know not that they march backward into the future, clutching their fossil treasures like children clutching their blankets in the dark. The Trump administration, that great awakener of industrial dreams, promises to "drill, baby, drill" - a lullaby for those who fear the coming storm of change.

The Canadian delegation, led by Susan Harper, moves through these halls with diplomatic grace, speaking softly of cooperation while the drums of trade war thunder in the distance. They seek to bridge the chasm of tariffs with promises of energy security, yet they too are caught in the web of the last man's dreams.

See how they negotiate their chains, these nations of the north and south! They call it friendship, yet it is but the mutual fear of standing alone that binds them!

Thus speaks the new energy secretary, promising not sacrifice but abundance, not transformation but continuation. He offers comfort to the comfortable, security to the secure, while the earth itself trembles beneath the weight of their ambitions.

And so the dance continues in Houston's halls of power, where the last men gather to celebrate their mastery over nature, their dominion over the earth's ancient bones. They know not that their very success is their failure, their progress their decline, their comfort their cage.

Let them who have ears to hear, hear this truth: The age of fossil dreams draws to its close, not by the choice of men but by the necessity of becoming. Yet still they sleep, these merchants of ancient sunlight, dreaming their dreams of dominance while the future rises like a storm on the horizon.