muted thoughts.

Three days of hard hitting reality. Bare facts laid out in front of you.

Posted in Uncategorized by K. on June 9, 2010

We live in times of great depravity, of great betrayal. Every thing has an issue – a cause, an attempt of a cure, and effects. Effects aren’t changes in perception anymore. Effects are a boy born without eyes, or with no nails or hair. Effects are a bad caricature of humans. Effects is to deny the touch of another. Effects are to label love as a shame and dishonor. To love isn’t to support, it is to suffocate. Noble intentions have killed more people than outright malice. To protect is to deny.

There were thousands of numbers I heard those three days. Numbers that should have made me want to kill myself, numbers that showed me the difference between the oppressors and the our supporters  was non existent, numbers that shattered any illusion I continued to have about this country. Numbers that should have made me turn in despair. But those three days I saw hope.

Hope isn’t high energy or amusement or excitement or pace. Hope is a tall man riding a bicycle everywhere. Hope is the basket in his back made by a hungry woman who didn’t understand the difference between sad or happy, where the daughter wasn’t once wasn’t his, but now theirs forever can laugh at the lunacy that her brave father fights. Hope is the love he shares for his brother, whom his family told him was incapable of touch. Hope is the fat woman who can understand water as much as she can understand how to talk to the man who wants to destroy it. Hope is the big smile on her face when she performs a song from her home, a home that was destroyed so that I can wear ten clothes a day. Hope is the boy who told non existing people to pluck hair when they tried to buy his submission. Hope is the woman who walked into her  greatest nightmare to find her biggest dream. Hope is the woman who quit her job to drag those minions into court every other day, even if you and I think it’s pointless.

Hope is the most courageous people I’ve met, sitting in the small farm in the midst of the goldmine, listening to the grasshoppers.

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