Tuesday, February 8, 2011
survival – communications
It feels ruthless, unfathomable
even, to witness Egypt and the
despot rule over tethered
technology and wonder
of what lines will be severed next
A few pairs of hands holding
massive pairs of scissors, ready
and waiting to cut us further from
Perhaps it is only paranoia that will
keep us dressed warmly in our
basements while we whittle away
time to find old trunks and chests,
digging into our pasts to revamp
the ham radio and find some
ancient scripture on good old
Lest the big hands come to
strangle us all together all too soon
with what little we have left,
what with all the strings to modern
necessities we are inextricably,
WCC Day 8 – Week 2: Language is a Place of Struggle, letters
Dear Blur of Middle School Meatheads,
Gratitude is in order. It’s been a long time coming, but I have many thanks to pass along to you.
For teasing me about not being able to see against a strong wind, thank you for giving me the gumption to find history where most eyes have never gone to seek it.
For laughing with your dad when he drove his truck fast over bumps so the “gook cream” he bought us would smash into my face, thanks for having me learn that much sooner the benefit of a thing called solidarity.
For your classic commentary on of my poor taste in styling my hand-me-downs, thank you for solidifying my memories of humble beginnings.
Where would my sense of gratitude be without all of this and every part of you?
I do wonder where you are and imagine it’d be great fun to look you in the eye and make remembrances in person. Sometimes I find myself wishing for a new moment to look back at those old moments when I just stood there, taking it in for later.
Somehow, I think it’d be different now. But I’d still end up thanking you, nevertheless.
Until next time,