People sometimes think I like fighting. I hate it. I hate every minute of it. It suits me to argue, but that doesn’t mean I like it. I probably hate it more than anybody else who writes a lot.

Although I often think and say that the way we are doing all of this is not quite the right way, the reason is never because it’s nasty. It probably has to be nasty. All that old stuff, all that anger, all these crimes, these real and bloody crimes. How else could you even begin to speak honestly about them? And even in speaking in anger we maybe capture one tiny little scintilla of what it really means. I just hate to think it’s for no purpose. That’s what scares me. Just the possibility that it doesn’t do anything to actually crack the foundation.

Someday it is gonna crack. Everything’s gonna shake and shake. People will shake it. The bindings will come undone. I no longer believe that it will be a glorious people’s revolution. I just think human life is too tragic for it to play out that way, at least at first. But maybe in that momentary anarchy there will be space for at least something different, and at this point, with it all so fossilized and calcified, I’d take it. I’d take just a reorganization, for now. And then maybe, the next time, it gets a little closer to the way it ought to be. I know I will never live to see that. But I want to be here for the next real shaking, even if it’s me getting shaken. Especially then. I just want to be here to watch the bindings come undone.