On Building Canada's Future
If cowardice is contagious, courage is a superspreader.
Oh Canada, my beloved Canada, how I long for you to return to your past prosperity. Canada is a country in decline. I wish it weren't so. Costs increase across the board. Beaucracy paralyzes our industries. A lack of incentive dampens our entrepreneurship. Our capital is risk averse. Canada is a nice, sad country right now.
While I lament our current state, I am hopefuly for the years to come. Properity is the most non-partisan topic. We might disagree on the details or what to do when prosperity is achieved, but regardless of political affiliation, I think we can all agree we want a better life, one that is more affordable and has a higher quality of life.
How do we return to growth? How do we awake from the stagnation? By being bold. If cowardice is contagious, courage is a superspreader. In our souls, we all want to brave, and bold things. We want to know that we lived lives of significance. Few will take the first step, but many will rally around those who do.
So, here I am. I'm drawing the line. I intend to build Loam Studios into a product studio of note in the age of AI. We will be known as an Apple or IBM. Our products will bring benefit to the world. We will go for gold. We will not back down. We will not quit. We will serve the citizens of Canada and the rest of the world. We will generate profits and do projects that build this country. Maybe a school of design. Maybe a city. Maybe a concert hall.
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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