"Fire is motion / Work is repetition / This is my document / We are all all we've done / We are all all we've done / We are all all we've done / We are all all defenses."

- Cap'N Jazz, "Oh Messy Life," Analphabetapolothology

Friday, August 08, 2008

the civil war

dream - friday morning, 8/8/08

i was outside, i think a group of us were talking about something, implementing a plan of action as a group, we were talking around a tree, i think we were in an arid place. we were talking when all of a sudden we hear a whirring sound, and someone holds up a hand and goes 'was that a bullet?' she shoes us her hand and it's got a small puncture wound on it. moments later, it happens again. we realize we're under gunfire. there's some war happening around us.

we go inside this really old wood cabin behind us. there are slits of sunlight shining thru the pieces of wood and thru the bullet holes. we lie on the floor so as not to get hit. we realize that they're coming soon, and that we should be ready. but rather than fight back, we develop a plan for when they get here. we are going to go out bravely, singing "Swing Lo, Sweet Chariot" (for some reason we thought we were in the civil war - maybe it was the log cabin?) we practice singing it and then we lie on our backs. these are ppl i've never met before but we're singing and preparing to die in such solidarity.

i'm lying there on the dirt floor (and i remember this part being weird, because i think i was watching myself/ experiencing everything from a third person perspective, like, i could SEE myself) and i can hear the whirr of bullets outside and my heart is racing and i am swelling up with anger and pride that this is the way i am going to die. and then i realize, my family is outside. they are in the house, the house i live in in lexington, and the bad guys are going to go into my house, and they are going to shoot my parents and my brother, and all of a sudden i am scared, and i want to run to be with them, and suddenly my death seems meaningless, seems cowardly, seems unfair. i want to be with them in my final moments, want to scream civil rights songs in the face of our oppressors, and want to be scared and defiant and brave one last time with my family around me, rather than these strangers.

i imagine the last time i hugged my dad, which, in my waking life was last night, and i remember it feeling strange since it'd been so long, but very comforting and relieving to know he was finally near enough that i could say "bye Dad" and wrap an arm around his neck, and in my dream that sense was a very urgent need. in my dream i suddenly feel the urgency of death and a paralysis, as i'm stuck to the floor of this cabin, singing slave songs, waiting for death to come. i remember thinking how symbolic every last moment becomes when you realize your actions are limited to a few brief moments, and i wondered if this was really how i wanted my last actions as a living human to be.

soon i would lose control of my nervous system, my ability to move limbs, to navigate the equilibrium, to practice volition and act with deliberation and intent. i felt guilty that i wasn't with my mother, ailing as she was, and that i didn't give my father a longer hug when i was near enough to do it.


i wake myself up from the dream with a slight scream, my heart racing from tossing around in my sleep.

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