Week 397 // Escape

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Wash the dirt from your clothes
Wipe the soot from your eyes
Straighten up and show some backbone
Straighten up and fly right for once in your life

Have I seen my face?
Have we seen our face?
In the USA we’re kickin’ ass
In the states we’ve made an art of taking names

So there’s no escape
No there’s no escape

When the moon is full we will be there
When the sun is in the east we will be there
We will throw a parade and you’d better come
Or your head on a pike so you’d better come gladly

Or there’s no escape
No there’s no escape from this
No there’s no escape

No Trump. No KKK. No Fascist USA. I’m a bad activist. I turn up to protests and feel better for a little while. That’s no way to do it. It’s not supposed to be therapy. It’s not supposed to scratch an itch. It’s supposed to pick a scab until it’s bleeding badly.

We’re bleeding badly. If you’re squeamish around Antifa, you might be a fascist. A lot of people are squeamish. This doesn’t end well. We’re incubating something worse than what we’ve seen, and I feel very scared for the future.

I lieu of any constructive solutions, I offer a song of desperation. I prefer my songs to include a “moment of conversion” wherein a constructed tension is breached by some productive turn of thought. I long for the epiphany that would offer this song its moment of conversion. I’ll be on the lookout.


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