Back when October was the month of doors,
back when I felt all the majors flow through me in all the people I met and was not so different from
back when each new work of fiction was an open door,
where now they all lead to one patriarchal class society or another.
Back when even in ruts I was sharpening a blade or learning a lesson to apply to my destiny
My destiny was to confront and struggle to break the loyalty of the North American settler nation to white supremacist imperialist capitalism.
My destiny was to see that the kaleidoscopic, psychedelic all-path I once thought I walked on
was a product of immense privilege.
My destiny was to see the chauvinism that has been rotting for more than a thousand years
lines every street, rounds out every contour of every car that passes me,
lies stinking in mounds behind more than half the faces I see,
deadens every syllable I hear spoken.
I do not have the stomachs or the mouths to throw up with to convey how sick unto death I am
of our dead and dead and dead and dead and dead culture.
My nation has made slaves of the rest of the planet.
Anyone close to wealthy eagerly saves money to buy more slaves.
Everyone wants to start a business,
and in this word business there is both the libidoless eagerness for the deadness of money and the murder of human potentiality that is slavery.
It was with such excitement that I realized that a spiritual tradition had woken me up
it was with such excitement I saw that hundreds of millions claimed to have been awoken, as Christ was woken, by a sense of the very hot fire that is always at the center of my will
what good was it to see that they do not see Christ–they have only a libidoless eagerness for a vast dead forest,
for a rainforest turned into room after unseen but promised room stacked from floor to ceiling with $100 bills.
In great sadness I realize it is only fear. It is only an adventureless fear that holds them where they are,
only a fear that has dried of all its pungency and turned into a tasteless and odorless reflex.
I have never wanted anything but the hustle and bustle of human beings, whether the pollen flying or the fruit dropping or the sprouts writhing upward.
I do not need any of it stored up–I just want the hustle and bustle.
I have not secured one four hundredth of the truth, but even I know that much.