As I throw away a sock with a hole in it, I realize the privelege I have to not patch it up, walk and feel the ridges of the patch, learn to patch it together better when the next hole shows through so as not to walk with blisters in circles and ovals on my soles, toes, heels.
And I realize it in English, in this hated fucking langauge that revolts me to this day to say the name of it. But it is your langauge, is it not? It is the language my lovers share with me. The language I say "she exists"in, even though my communist slut is crying out in shame for concealing that I have known not having any of these fucking priveleges, except for still being white with educated parents and a roof over my head, if not a home. And I cry out, my innards know. They hear the song that in Russian mirrors the rhythm and feeling of "she exists." But what's it to you, English - speaking populus? A collection of sounds, to guitar, w/ no meaning unless you listen closely and then you hear... nothing. Music may be universal, but how many have lifted the deafness of the iron curtain? How many of you didn't scoff when I dared utter the word communist? And would you recognize the irony and the pride and the pain behind that word? From a victor's perspective you celebrate Columbus Day every year and give Thanks to the losers for losing, to the Earth for being so bountiful in her forgiveness that you don't even notice, in this land of immigrants, that we are all playing a game. Playing along to your _____ of conquerors.
So no, I guess you wouldn't hear communism like I hear it, or slut like I wish I heard it, or cunt like a powerful word.
Well enough negativity, don't you think? Let's all say thanks and smile and tourn our backs on the wind.
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