Why You Marching?

6th of March. 1957. Ghana! Independence Day.
Wonderful.
She's 50!



And on a completely different note...

Backlash After The Boom
Fuck. The letters on the page really don't say it all. They tell nothing of the flame and the fury with which I fought to get those two letters on the page. F-ck, F**k, F--k, F---, #*$%. The words mean nothing when gutted from the inside like caviar from codfish. The word means nothing now anyway. We are at war. We are. Vonnegut and Heller and Miller were at war. Those guys had it going for them, those guys had surprise. I can see a fucking president get his brains blown out, see starved dead bodies dragged into a pit, see slaves with intricate emblems branded into their backs and I can eat a fucking cheeseburger a second later. We are at war. Fuck it, I am fighting. I am at war with the ten pounds I can't put on, I am at war with my boss, I am at war with my new drug dealer (bitch better not rip me off). I am at war with the dash and the asterix that wouldn't let me put an uc between the Fk. I am trying to sleep under concrete ceilings as chilly as concrete pavements and I can't sleep. All the while I am trying, trying, all the while I am trying. What is this? I am walking now, I am crossing. Red lights blink me on and off the roads, neon light bulbs tell me where there is life. All the while I am walking, all the while I am looking. Vonnegut and Heller and Miller had it going for them. They had surprise.

All Around Us #10
"I just don't know who I am anymore, I really don't. I could sit in this fireplace all fucking year and I wouldn't know."
"You look beautiful."
"You can't even see me."
"I can see you."
"You can see my silhouette. I'm in a fucking fireplace."
"Well..."
"And look at you. I can see you. Look at the fire making your face glow."