I feel us like a bomb under heavy water, lonely riders all only occasionally knowing that we are not lonely, not alone, not even riding but standing. In opposition, in your midst, in solidarity and enraged. We are, we do, we must endure and we endure and we do endure, all for the hope of a change, a movement barely perceptible if you are not awake at night, all night, waiting for news of a shift, this shift, any shift away from the universal no, the almighty ostritching that is everyone saying no to knowing, saying no to doing anything about what we would have no choice but to know if only we would open our eyes. I feel us like an engine with only the faintest memories of combustion– I feel us waiting to explode and desperately trying to remember how. I feel us and I wonder if I have gone insane, if it is going insane that would make a person know that they are not alone out here, that they are not the only one waiting for a yes, waiting for a sign, waiting for a voice, waiting to be a voice, waiting to stop waiting. If it is going insane that would make wanting something so badly while wanting it’s exact opposite at the same time seem like not going insane.  

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