To what poypurss, toyrtuss?

In A post to keep afloat, Animals, Artists, Circus, coffee, Food, Irish Mist, Local projects, Music, Revision, Sanford Meisner, The Art of Peace on November 3, 2014 at 10:31 am

DSCN5982 Of course, this quaint old illustration has a neat moral ending. The hare – yaba-daba-doo – so sure of his superior sprint gets beaten at the finish line by the heavy, clumsy tortoise. So there, slackers.

In real life, this old and heavy tortoise would settle for a quiet snooze away from the din and the List of Things To Do. The old tortoise got a lift partway in and partway out of the peaceful march yesterday.

During which time she listened in, or heard or participated in a number of extraordinary exchanges of views. An average participant to a peace march is a living and breathing contradiction. As for the composite animal – be it made of five individuals or five hundred thousand – it can hold forth on the basic differences between true Christian mysticism and the phonier kinds; William Reich and his opinions  about the fundamental fascist that lurks in the hearts of all humans; several card-bearing members of the ACAB mindset (that’s All Cops Are Bastards for those of you unfamiliar with the acronym); a sprinkling of cops in civilian clothing (there on their own time or getting double pay for Sunday work); naive newcomers and old-timers alike;  jaded old-timers, out for one more slog; excited kids, listening to their first tales from hunger strikers…

I could go on.

At one point on the way out of the gathering where the boy died, these legs of mine insisted on just standing there. Coming toward me (people flowed in and out until quite late), I saw a woman a bit younger than I but of the same generation. She sings and plays the hurdy-gurdy at a number of events – including the peaceful part of the October 25th gathering that was held on this site. We both stopped, and did little else than rest head to head for a few seconds. Nothing, nothing is ever settled once and for all, she said.

Ain’t that the truth though.

Allez. A bit of corn bread (genetically modified? I don’t know, but more than likely); another bowl of coffee (no questions asked about the ultimate owner of the Equitable Provider of the beans). Allez, alley, ally oop-oop, ally oop.


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