Ignorance like a gun in hand
reach out to the promised land
Your history books are full of lies,
media -blitz gonna dry your eyes
You're eighteen wanna be a man
Your granddaddy's in the Ku Klux Klan
Taking two steps forward
and four steps back
Gonna go to the White House
and paint it black
Turn around, they'll try to keep you down
Turn around, Turn around
Don't drag me down

--Mike Ness

Tuesday, June 29, 2010


I'm in a train station. It's large with a ceiling so high I almost can’t see it. It’s all tans and browns with an art deco feel. The main terminal is filled with people, so many that they press in against me. I don’t want them to. I’m going somewhere but I can’t remember where or why. I’m jostled and shoved by the press of people all hurrying to their destinations. Everyone is moving except for me. I’m standing still in the middle of the terminal. Lost.

Spinning around I search desperately for an exit, for the direction that will lead me to my destination. All around me are tunnels leading down to the platforms. They're dark. I can’t penetrate the darkness. Can’t see where they lead.

I choose one at random. Hurrying toward it I bump into an Indian man with a blue turban. He smells of curry and sour sweat. I apologize but he doesn’t hear me. I grab at his arm but he pulls away with out looking at me. After what seems like hours I reach one of the tunnels and see stairs descending into darkness. I'm afraid. Paralyzed. Forcefully the crowd pushes me forward. Turning I try to fight my way back up the stairs but it is no use. They're to powerful. I'm overwhelmed by the crowd and swept down the stairs.

Pushed to the bottom I find myself in the middle of the terminal again. I'm confused. This is where I started. Choosing a different tunnel I run toward it. I push people down shoving them out of the way but they don’t notice. Down the stairs I race taking them two at a time and find myself back in the middle of the terminal.

Grabbing a woman with long curly black hair I ask for directions, “where am I supposed to go?” She stares through me not hearing, then pulls from my grasp hurrying to where ever she was going. I ask another person. And another. And another. They don’t hear me. I panic and start to run toward another tunnel. I'm pushing people down. Shoving them out of the way. Trampling them in my attempt to find the train. Down the tunnel and back into the middle of the terminal.

Screams fill the air and I realize that it's me. No one notices. The crowd passes me by and I drop to my knees pulling at my hair. Throwing back my head I look to the ceiling screaming. Screaming. My throat is on fire and pain fills my head but still I scream. The people hurry by. Closing my eyes I don’t want to see them. I squeeze them shut until it hurts and my head is filled with a blinding white light.

Someone says “Ticket Please.”

Opening my eyes I blink rapidly until my vision is clear. There's a conductor standing before me. He's old and kindly looking with many winkles tracing a map across his face. I stare at those wrinkles and for an instant I think I see where to go. Directions to my destination hidden in the wrinkles of his face just out of vision.

He says “ticket please,” once more.

Searching my pockets I can’t find a ticket. “I don’t have one, please tell me where to go” I plead. Clutching at his arm, begging him with my eyes while trying to see the secrets hidden in his face. I can’t find them. I don’t have the ability. He smiles kindly and pulls away moving into he crowd and is lost from sight. I hear him asking people for tickets. They all have tickets. They all have a destination. Direction.

On my knees I'm screaming again. No one hears. I can’t escape the train station. Trapped in a prison of my own inadequacy.

I'm screaming.

The crowd passes by.

No one hears.

June 29, 2010