the neverending havoc, the abject cruelty, the malignant narcissism, the discarding of rights, the disrespect of humanity, the dismantling of democracy – it all leaves me nauseated.
the scars will run deep upon the land. profound, weeping scars.
and where do we-the-people go from here?
“every day just gets a little shorter, don’t you think?/take a look around you, and you’ll see just what i mean/people got to come together, not just out of fear…
where do we go/where do we go/where do we go from here?
try to find a better place, but soon it’s all the same/what you thought was a paradise is not just what it seemed/the more i look around i find the more i have to fear
where do we go/where do we go/where do we go from here?
8pm curfew and we can hear car horns and sirens blaring, smoke is in the air.
midnight and we hear gunshots, loud booms, sirens.
4:30am and the sirens continue. a storm arrives; the thunder adds to other unidentifiable sounds and is unnerving. we sit, awake.
early morning and the sun has risen to a stormy day. smoke fills our house from buildings, structures, vehicles burning in downtown and uptown kenosha. it is hard to breathe. but we are very much alive.
the town is shoring up the lakefront. the bedrock is crumbling. every time a storm comes, particularly from the north or northeast, the erosion is profound and feet are lost along the shore. enormous boulders are being brought in to nest next to the smaller granite boulders already in place, to protect lives and property. the theory is that these granite boulders will buffet the shoreline against the raging winds, the elements, the squalls, and the resulting rocks flung westward when those aggressive storms come.
the tempest of social injustice is railing. the coastline between white and black is hot and the fire of anger is raging. jacob blake, an african american man, who is right between the ages of My Girl and My Boy, was shot seven times in the back by a police officer on sunday. he is fighting for his life and the community is fighting to be heard.
what will tonight bring?
as the bedrock of this community crumbles we wonder what seawall will be built to protect all, to guard against inequity, to keep everyone safe from violence, to stop the injustice against black members of our community, our state, our country? what intelligent, articulate conversation will take place? what questions will be asked; what wisdom will be proffered? what compassion and generous action will be offered? how will we buffet against the rocks of hatred and bigotry flung by aggressive hostility? what will the boulders of change look like?
“the wise man built his house upon a rock, house upon a rock, house upon a rock. the wise man built his house upon a rock and the rains came tumbling down.
the rains came down and the floods came up. the rains came down and the floods came up. the rains came down and the floods came up and the house on the rock stood firm.
the foolish man built his house upon the sand, house upon the sand, house upon the sand. the foolish man built his house upon the sand and the rains came tumbling down.
the rains came down and the floods came up. the rains came down and the floods came up. the rains came down and the floods came up and the house on the sand went splat!”
we have some decisions to make. as a community, a state, a country. what will we do? will it be sand? again? or will it be rock?
an empty canvas. a roadtrip with no predetermined destination. where do you go from here, davidrobinson?
an empty staff. a roadtrip with no predetermined destination. where do you go from here, kerrisherwood?
artists’ journeys, rife with intersections, foist decision-making upon us in our quest to create. simply starting is sometimes an uphill challenge. the questions are never easily answered. the value of what we are doing is never really clear. or is it – the value assigned to what we are doing is never really clear?
we have a daily decision, a choice to “begin anywhere” (john cage) and speak to the world around us and what we see through artists’ eyes. we write, we paint, we compose. we either create or we step away from the canvas, the staff paper, the qwerty keyboard. we know that nothing we do will change the world. we know that everything we do, like you, will change the world.
where do we go from here?
last night anderson cooper’s chyron read, “meanwhile, back in the real world.” the real world. a world fraught with chaos, trembling with the fever of a pandemic and the disease of racism. we, as people, turn to the sages of old for words of wisdom. we turn to art for honest displays of emotion. we turn to music for expressions of pain and hope, grief, despair, love, action, change, fear, questions.
questions like – where do we go from here?
Every day just gets a little shorter, don’t you think? Take a look around you and you’ll see just what I mean People got to come together, not just out of fear
Where do we go Where do we go Where do we go from here?
Try to find a better place but soon it’s all the same What once you thought was a paradise is not just what it seemed The more I look around, I find, the more I have to fear
Where do we go Where do we go Where do we go from here?
I know it’s hard for you to Change your way of life I know it’s hard for you to do The world is full of people Dying to be free So if you don’t, my friend There’s no life for you No world for me
Let’s all get together soon, before it is too late Forget about the past and let your feelings fade away If you do I’m sure you’ll see, the end is not yet near
Where do we go Where do we go Where do we go from here?
reverse threading 