thoughts

i am in a bagel shop. in front of me is an old, crabby white woman who is explaining in minute detail how she wants her sandwich. you know the type, a grump living in the 19th century, a gone with the wind watching caricature of a bigoted old lady. after receiving her sandwich, and angering the middle aged latino/modern day slave making 7 bucks an hour who made it, she went to sit down. before eating, she reached into her pocket, and this 70 to 80ish woman pulled out an ipod! i'm 28, and i don't have an ipod. of course, i don't have a cell phone, a computer, or cable tv either, but still! wasn't it always the old who held on to what they knew, who knew nothing of the new, who resisted changes in technology, who were blissfully ignorant of modern trinkets? it seems that is changing, that the new dominates all that came before it, and forces itself into the lives of all of us. i would much prefer a world where the young explored the joy of listening to the radio and playing records than a world where the old master the use of transitory consumer goods in a useless attempt to stay vital and relevant. an old crank is an old crank, regardless of what perry como vocals arise from a portable record collection the size of a mustard sea. fuck modernity.

going to work, i'm on the bus. children going to school are also on the bus. young, mainly privileged white kids, most likely heading to boston latin school, the oldest and "best" public school in the city. chatter ensues, the mindless rantings of brainwashed adolescents in a decadent civilization, destined for destruction. a group of young black students cluster together, talking. they begin to mock the afro as a hairstyle. one says "hair looks better short" as if he were just back from a stint in the service. i was half expecting a rant against "hippies," a faceless group the young have come to blame for the problems of yesteryear. the afro...once, a statement against the beauty standards of the dominant structure of white supremacy. now, a punch line for the descendents of those same rebels, the children and gradchildren of angela, of assata, of huey, of mumia. "hair looks better short" say those who have already begun to die, and whose spiritual death will receive no notice. they are merely well adjusted. they are making it. they go to the latin school. they are role models. they are succeeding "by any means necessary."

later that day, another group of kids. these kids are "tough" kids who go to the curley middle school. they are anywhere from 11 to 14 years old, but they are already high on pot, and use the n-word liberally. many will likely not live long, victims of the poverty they are born in. they are the ones who did not make it into latin school, the ones who our society fears, and who, in turn, find their only joy in terrorizing society. there is no money for them. that money has been earmarked for military bases, imperial wars, and corporate contracts. meanwhile, our inner city schools crumble, poor children go cold because their families can't pay outrageous oil prices, and decent parks, libraries and community centers close due to lack of funding. for many of these children, their education will take place in prison, their juvenile lives a mental and physical jail.

at times, it really seems that there is no hope, and i mean none. N-O-N-E.
it's time for me to get back to work
until 2:35
peace.