america runs with the guns.

{pj harvey currently.} windows, fogged and wet with rain. a cold walk through the woods. snow on the trees, and wooden things. walkways. footbridge. we climb a fence, and wander through a large piece of property for sale. k says the kids used to come in and steal his vegetables. i imagine his sadness at the implications therein. the bottoms of our pantlegs grow wet. they do not drip. there is an old building, a schoolhouse, which has been abandoned. we speak of climbing in through one of the windows, until we see that the roof has caved in. there is an old truck, with plants {weeds} growing out of the back. there are planks of wood, bridging a small pool of water. it is slick with moss and wet snow. we run, and slide on it as though skiing. {lucinda williams now..."junebug versus hurricane," she sings.} the leaves on the ground, obscure the cement. it is glorious this overpopulation of leaves. it gives one hope.

meanwhile, george bush signs more papers to make it illegal for women to have abortions in over thirty states. i am exhasperated. disgusted. what is "progress" with this nonsense. it is frankly {as much of what he has done while in office} absolutely inhumane. 13 million people worldwide {including the leaders of most nations} can protest a war, and still america runs with the guns. i begin to wonder when the revolution will begin. {if?}. for are we all too apathetic? i ask myself, "how can this all come to be?" i am exhausted with him. all of it. the nonsense. the partiality and dishonesty of the media. the utter lack of democracy. the not so gradual increase of a police state. {rufus wainwright now..."pretty things, so what if i like pretty things"} the patriot act. what horseshit. apologies for such an ineloquent discussion {or lack thereof.}

i raise my head, and look up to the plants on the kitchen table. the bowl of fruit. i think, "we should eat this before we go, or it will rot." there are things to do. many things to do today. we fly tomorrow. the big things up in the sky. {reid [spinoza] now..."the road that i am walking, is so very long indeed."} i miss reid. that week in new york. how is it that we can miss so many people at once? all over the world. "nothing comes from nothing," he sings. i will rise. a cup of tea perhaps. monday.

Posted by jeff pitcher at October 18, 2004 11:40 AM

....................................