Sound bites fly in on the drive home and spend the night flying around. O god, a young woman says, there is no one left. O god, o god, she says. They are killing us all. Then birds against the glass of the dream window and children kicking, flushed, and fevered in their moving beds. We are moving, but where? Everywhere you can see the overgrowth of mechanic replication stretching its tentacles to our throats. The children will tell you. Ask them how they are, and they will tell you. I am tired. I am so tired, they say. The officials respond: we have more! So much more. The children are not sure about the water. There are rumors of lead. Of runoff. Human waste. They are sure, if you ask them to elaborate, that there is probably a camera somewhere recording them, making a weapon of their faces, their voices, to be turned against them at a future time, yet undetermined. This morning one cries quietly under his hood. I do what I can to keep the cameras from him. The sirens continue, the blast of alarms calling time. Officials reach measuring sticks and probes toward the bodies of the children. The children are backing away. Official talk revolves around the question of reaching them. Ways to bypass their resistance. In this world where the machine winds its algorithmic fingers toward their necks and birds crash against windows where the children are tired, I cannot help. Hoping. They are learning, I want to believe. To resist. But what? And how? They do not say what, not yet. They do not say how. I offer only words, poems. Music, metaphors. Try this? Or this one? I do not know what passes through. We continue, for now. Some of us, then fewer over time. How are you? We ask. And answer, so tired.
That’s hideously beautiful! I read it twice and enjoyed the intricacy of it more a second time, the rhythm especially. Reads like Orwell to me! Love the set up and how you’ve captured this sometimes vile heart of the media, it seems. Luscious! Off the cuff or did you spend a fair amount of time weaving it? Your writing sounds so fluid I’m curious how much rewriting or revision was needed for this one?
Wow, Bill. I love the phrase hideously beautiful. Thank you. In response to your question, I suppose a lot of weaving goes on in the background as I go about the tasks of the day, but when I started this blog project I made myself a fairly strict time limit per daily post to ensure that it would be sustainable. This one was almost instantaneous. But the threads in it are no doubt woven continuously over years of reflecting and feeling through these things as I work with young people. Because these are so close to me and so rapidly composed, I do not usually have a sense what may stick. So your comment prompts me to bookmark this one for further reflection. Thank you, dear friend. : )
That’s wonderful! And thanks for sharing your process Stacey, I can relate to that. Something someone once said about the “thinking about writing” process that leads up to the writing part, they said it’s like chewing on a rock until it becomes a marble. Or some nice image like that. Thanks again for sharing and enjoy your day; your students are lucky to have you.
This is by far some of your best work! Very well done!
Thomas, Thank you so much for this kind and generous comment. Wishing you a great day, friend.