What We See, We See

False History Gets Made All Day, Any Day, The Truth Of The New Is Never On The News.

It Is The Thirtieth Of May, The Thirtieth Of November, A Beginning Or An End, We Are Moving Into The Solstice And There Is So Much Here I Still Do Not Understand.

In A World Where Language And Naming Are Power, Silence Is Oppression, Is Violence.

The Worker Can Unionize, Go Out On Strike; Mothers Are Divided From Each Other In Homes, Tied To Their Children By Compassionate Bonds; Our Wildcat Strikes Have Most Often Taken The Form Of Physical Or Mental Breakdown.

I Choose To Love This Time For Once With All My Intelligence -from "splittings