Instead of wanting to disappear and disappear and disappear, I want to appear, and appear, and appear; to take up all the space, all the oxygen, all the room, and all the righteousness that I have turned over to any other human being, alley-cat, tailgating car, or man who endlessly professes his dying love to me. I will take up the room I was denied.
Yes, and I will take up more than that.
With each breath I take I will be alive, and beyond ignoring, or dismissing; and you will gasp for breath as you try to breathe in the air that I’ve already turned into CO2.
” –where we came in?”
My conviction is that I have suffered for things that I am guilty of.
I am suffering because I am a radical
and indeed I am a radical;
I have suffered because I was an Italian,
and indeed I am an Italian.
—Bartolomeo Vanzetti, 1927
“Good morning, Worm, your honor–”
Like “Extraordinary Machine” is my theme song, I have secretly cherished one, 27 second scene from Braveheart and never ceased to see it and hear it in my mind. For what, now? How long has it been?
I can answer that.
It has been eleven years and eleven months.
My foxholes I no longer dig to cowardly depths.
I had to.
Any martyr complex I may ever have had disappeared because I knew I had to survive long enough to fight when the time came, or my entire life would have been lived in vain.
But now, after all that time doing something so antithetical my nature that at times I thought I might actually implode, the time is now.
“I’m going to pick a fight.”
Every moment of my unbelievable training course of a life has prepared me. I’m still definitely scared shitless, but that’s okay.
Since I can remember I had this feeling that I needed a calling. A purpose.
The only problem is that I had no idea what it might be; only that must not involve monetary gain and that I wanted it to serve the goals of justice and humanity without which everything is destroyed.
Then, of course, I became older, and I knew that seemed totally crazy.
Sometimes I even doubted.
But never for long.
Then, for a while, as something inside me CLICKED on like a trigger in a code, I began feeling this constant check of concern about the “ego” factor. To feel shame in thinking that way, as if it meant I had some outsized ego – something which I know is a weak spot genetically and historically for me.
Then I made peace with it when I realized that it is not about me.. The soul knows no persons. I am simply a worker bee. But worker bees are the stitching that holds together the very quilt of the universe.
So, in celebration–
–of the fact that I can soon finally, finally, kick some much needed ass,
I give you my one of my Theme Clips. ((Although I redo the scene in my imagination in a zillion different ways, of course, my favorite being my Joan of Arc alternate version.)
My imagination is really fucking limitless and I would say that single trait is as directly related to my purpose, my job, my mission, my calling; as any other single trait.
“I’m going to pick a fight”
“Well, we didn’t get dressed up for nothing.”