raven0us

It’s a sacrifice. | July 13, 2011


 

But we’re all jerks. We are all jerks. Where is our ability to traverse all of the facets of ourself? When do we not give up here? When do we remember the ways we have invested in this relationship for a long time with a lot of genuine feeling? when is love worth fighting for through action and time? When do I stop giving up? I want to know what getting through shit looks like. I want to stop cycles of visceral love.
 
I believe in good intentions before maliciousness. I believe in transformation. I have to! or I have given up on being able to live without guilt. I damage too and so do you.
I also believe people change shape before your eyes and when people are speaking through what is true for them they shine and make sense in all ways. but when they are repressing themselves in strategy they change shape. Their skin looks different and you sense a menace to them. Sometimes this is good. when imminent trauma is quickly approaching. But we often use this for all fear. even between ourselves and our loved ones. when it is ok to feel fear. I think Zach and I have been barreling forward in life with a sense of menace that grows like mold through repression. But I want to believe we can steer away from repression if we strengthen each other and reassure each other it is ok.

 

 

There is a point when all social, struggle, movement work becomes a banner

covering the chaos of social.

It waves like victory as social soldiers hold half smiles.

It waves. wavers. and people worry it shows weakness.

Black blocked fury pull at the corners of plastic shields.

“Tighten up! We’ve got work to do!”

Over a thin line the us versus the them.

The us showed up.

The them… well I guess they never leave or are always everywhere.

But the us showed up.

Despite all distraction.

Despite all drama.

It’s a sacrifice.

Like smiling mothers in the welfare line.

Similar to children of alcoholics fitting in… anywhere.

Kinda like a hetero-normative man giving a love interest a compliment wishing he did it right.

 

This fight has a mask.  A banner.

a shield of protection.

“please state, don’t look behind the smoke and mirrors.”

We fear the very social element we fight to have the ability to express.

that will “do us in on the stand.”

 

Behind the banner are black figures.

ready. rowdy. ruthless.

also totting poignant social analysis… poised.

 

Behind the banner are empty spaces stacked with remote passion.

There are satellite social militants.

(they couldn’t make it this time.)

 

Anarchists write citations against love and administer restraining orders. for safety.

The us restrain the us, for fear of showing weakness.

handkerchiefs shape shift faces,

sometimes like police officer’s uniforms…

… but eyes shine out through the bars of solid black mouth cover under solid black hoodie.

.Eyes shine out from behind bars.

Some of the us aren’t scared of their weaknesses being infiltrated.

It’s a sacrifice.

 

 

 

 

 

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    Mother Lover. <3

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