Transmissions

Isabella Nicolette Brady January 23, 2010 5:03pm. Welcome Monkey!!

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I followed my last week of seven straight closes with this week’s six straight closes. I’m simply in survival mode. I’ll get through, I always do.  I had a lovely day before work with Sophia. Gardening is always therapeutic. Especially gardening with Sophia.

Agonizing pain aside, how about a quick,  little story about crying on the road?

So, I got off from work early one day last month and had the pleasure of driving home from work while the sun was still awake and Spring was still springing. Anyone who has been to the region can probably attest that springtime around the GW parkway near DC and my new “Homeland” McLean VA  is so absolutely and refreshingly lush with green life and beauty that it is easy to forget that we inhabitants live in the central powerhouse of global fascism.

I was turning off of Old Dominion rd. onto the small, local off-ramp during a minor traffic jam. I was in what I like to call a non-mood: neither happy nor sad. I was just getting through another day of “Life” in the Empire of Nothingness.

As I was turning onto the ramp my typical male radar noticed a women singing passionately in her car. She was all alone just like me. I was blasting music out of my Volvo speakers and she was blasting music out of her fucking skull. As I got closer to her, and her car, I realized that she was weeping. Intensely.

The surprising moment for me was my tears that were already flowing the second I saw her in that moment. It happened in a second. As I was turning right onto the ramp, she was turning left onto the street. As I was looking at her, the light changed and I started to drive. I saw her face turn to me and I turned my face away. I drove away.

I mean, who has time, right?

Who has TIME?

I wonder what would happen if we all started talking. Here is the music from the scene. Vampire Weekend are a Ruling Class band I can sink my teeth into. At least they know that they are evil!

Its not really a place, but a state of being in various places in the United States. Its not Compton or Gaza; its a nowhere land of shopping malls, lost time and minds.

I’m sure that other lands have Shit Towns, but I’ve never been.

Its where dreams almost always die. Where innate abilities and passions are slowly extinguished. Where bright eyes go dead.

RUN!!

RUN!!

Run right through that door right now!

“Whoever becomes the ruler of a city that is accustomed to freedom and does not destroy it can expect to be destroyed by it, for it can always find a pretext for rebellion in the name of its former freedom and age-old customs, which are never forgotten despite the passage of time or any benefits it has received. No matter what the ruler does or what precautions he takes, the inhabitants will never forget that freedom or those customs — unless they are separated or dispersed . . .”

—Machiavelli, The Prince

So, I was hanging out with Sophia tonight, telling her about an amusing coworker. The coworker (Mellisa) and I both hate our jobs and just cling on to each other because we’re trapped in the same pen, are of similar age, are both from the south and we are the only two people that get each others jokes. [No, she’s not my mistress perverts.]

And the jokes are good!

Lophia–who is always trying to get me to see the “bright side of things”–said, “See, you always say you hate your job so much, but you always have these happy stories.”

Oh, the civilized!

It’s not like prisoners in a federal prison never have a laugh. Its not like the American slaves never invented the blues! Or comedy or jazz!  People always think that because human creativity seems to be thriving and existing in the midst of Capitalism that they must be interrelated. No.

We persist in spite of Capitalism. And domination.

ALL of the good stuff comes from us and/or our experiences with each other and the natural world. Its LOVE! The love of being alive and with each other. Does this make me a silly hippy? Fuck you for asking!

It is not all of these institutions and organizations of the powerful. Joy comes from US looking each other in the eyes with our guards down and being ready to know ourselves and one another!

I wanted to say more. I always do. But its late. Very late.

The essay will be done before April 25th.

A kind note from a friend put me in the mood to finish this essay. It’s kind of a love story where everyone is invited. Speaking of invitations, allow me to quote the almost famous DC super group Dismemberment Plan:

“You are invited, by anyone to do anything. You are invited for all time. You are so needed, if you really want to go. You are invited for all time.”

Its almost spring time sisters and brothers. There is something in the air, can you feel it? I’ll see you in the streets!