Wednesday, November 17, 2010

A History Lesson

Today I stormed the Bastille. In glad rags and polished faces, with pressed pages of over-edited drivel, destined for the blue bin. Smart patent leather on shoes, portfolios. We came from the basements and tunnels with secret maps, knowing the codes, the jig finely-choreographed: what a crazy week, how was the campaign, let's lament our loss, begrudge the lame duck, thank you for your time, people are dying, experts know best, sign our letter, remember the Maine, freedom isn't free.

Then we soldiers retire to cafes and whisper over glistening salads about naivety in concert and dystopic futures and slaughtered ingénues. We trade power for sincerity, for science, for professional self-righteousness. And thus Bastilles never stay stormed for long.

the blood of the revolution


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