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DreamRebel

Corporations and You!

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Since we obviously dont care about reforming the decay of American social values and we are all but defeated by big business, Do the American people even have the ability to be progressive and stop this dangerous trend?

This is my answer to this question you posed.

March 18th, 2003

It's funny, the way we think. I wish I could say its a beatiful day today. The sun is shining, the air is warm and rich with scents of flowers floating in it. But, I'm hoping for heat waves in Iraq, cloud cover to counter satellite imaging, rainstorms that leave the soldiers boots wet and damn their morale. Now is not the season for this. Spring is when the ground is infinitely broken by blades of grass and tulips to be. A time of renewal and rejuvination brimming with the prospects of life. It's hard to combine these images of springtime childhood; playing outdoors, in creeks, watching my father dig and plant bulbs in the ground with the prospective images of my high school friends turned soldiers playing the war games we used to play in the woods with imagination as our only weapon, marching across deserts with live ammunition that can leave brains as swiss cheese no matter which side of the trigger they're on. I used to go for walks in Spring Grove Cemetary in Cincinatti around this time of year. Cemetaries are our cities' only green space. If I were there now, would the back hoe be at work? Would I watch fathers digging beds to lower their sons into as I had seen my father do with flower bulbs each spring? Would they return and stand proudly over the ground where they planted their sons as my father, the backyard gardener, stand by his flower beds with a smile?

When talking about war here, I hear people talk about the lives of men from U.S. and the casualties of women and children in Iraq. But what of fathers, sons, and boyfriends there? At what point does the boy you had concern for become the man unmentioned? Is the death of women more horrific than men, is there an assumption that women are defenseless and men are expected to die in war?

I wish I could say its a beatiful day, I wish these thoughts were coherent. But I can hear the air raid sirens in Baghdad. I can see the people of Voices in the Wilderness preparing to meet the invading troops, I can imagine Iraqi generals shaking sabers in front of cameras and drinking flasks from shaking hands behind closed doors. I can see my friends faces in front of Israeli bulldozers and I can hear the neighbors I grew up with say its their own fault they got run over, they shouldn't have been aiding terrorists.

James Forman said that it became standard for SNCC/Panther organizers to carry a suitcase packed with a gun and a bottle of Maalox. How do we do life-sustaining work when all of our fears have been armed? How do we maintain our humanity in the face of inhuman conditions?

It's important to find beauty amongst the chaos, the rose from the concrete. Building real relationships with each other, a real community of resistance where we both care about how we all are doing and take the time to ask those questions and listen to their answers is one way to do this. How we continue to find beauty in each other when we're made to not feel beautiful ourselves? We can maintain our beauty through dancing, sharing meals, making music, making love, but in these numbing times where its easy to be shut off from ourselves can making love be more than an act of desperation and still an act of desire? I'm looking for a way to feel human amongst inhumanity. If I weren't new to this city, I'd have friends to hold my head in their lap and run fingers through my hair. But I feel alone and that fits their goals.

They want us to feel like individuals, to isolate ourselves and expand our fears. I want to feel connected, I want to feel a passion other than seething anger or utter sorrow. I want to meet wet lips with my own and hold our faces close so that I know I'm still breathing. I want to use every part of my body in bed so that I know my muscles haven't been paralyzed by fear. I want someone to lay their head on my chest afterwards and tell me my heart's still beating. I want someone to tell me they want me so that I know there are still things to be desired in this world and that those things are tangible. I don't want these things because I'm in heat or in love. I'm in war times. And I want to feel something other than sadness, to hear screams that aren't from pain and moans that aren't from sorrow, to feel alive in this deadening world, to have a hand to hold when more bombs are dropped, to be connected to something outside of myself when it seems I'm living in my thoughts. To affirm our humanity in a dehumanizing world.

I want to kiss all hope for a better world where everything is art and all my passion into someone else's lips and have them press me against a wall with the force of its possibility. I want to bite someone's back to admit I'm scared and feel our future victory in the nails they run across my skin. I want to tell them they're beautiful through light kisses on the inside of their thighs and have them say "I know" in the arch of their back. I want our tangled legs to mirror our confusion when it comes to strategy and our panting sighs to signify our struggle. I want to collapse against sheets and know that while we rest, others are fighting. I want to know I'm still capable of joy. I want to see the day where making love can be about love again. Where we can feel safe to express that love anywhere with anyone we want. Safe from bombs, armies, safe from cops, safe from homophobic attacks. Until then, our struggle is our act of love. Toward a world where we can be ourselves, We are a small link in a struggle of centuries for freedom.

Thank you ancestors

Descendants, we shall not fail you

peace and revolution

tomorrow is ours.

By-B.Loewe

Does that answer your question?

Edited by strichar

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