Black and Red Roses
Channel: thesummerstarr
Date: 2011-07-15

I ask you, you whose job it is to defame, You that labels me and we insane. I ask
then of you- 
When we circle galaxies do our geographies that we call bodies not 
react the same? When we descend to Hades flames do our hearts not burn the same? When our tears become the precious stones of our forebears in the formless circle of time do they not gleam with the same saltine suggestion of genuine emotion passed up and back to us from those that will come from us?  
When we bleed on the beds of roses thorns that we have made for ourselves and chosen to sleep in day after night after week after month after year after lifetime, does our flesh not tear the same with each toss and turn of our restless slumber through guilty histories and our prejudiced present? 

And now I have you, that you this is not we, that you that tells me it is me, that you that has no soul but believes it is free. I have that you telling me that you want me to do your dirty deeds. You want me to continue the crimes of my ancestry. You whose hands are covered with blood you want me to turn your profit, flip your trick, and take your drugs. You want me to close my eyes, silence my heart, and help you nip the revolution in the bud. 

Well, this bud is a fully blossomed bouquet of black and red roses that rejects your notions of separation and hierarchy, refuses to be another cog in the wheel. A fully blossomed bouquet of black and red roses that are growing with wild fervor across the landscapes our East and with each prick of their thorn bleeds a new day, bleeds a new ideal. A fully blossomed bouquet of black and red roses placed at the graves of those that set themselves aflame, lighting a string of firecrackers from Egypt to Bahrain. 

Passion from deep within the tomb of Tutankhamun, rising up swinging with the claws of Baste, feathered with the wings of Isis, granted immortality by Osiris and the hawk eyes of their son, Horus piercing through illusion making clear that the path to self-rule is within. Energy sweeping from the tenacity in Tunisia to jousting in Jordan, struggles in Syria, yelling in Yemen, agitation in Algeria, to the fight for liberation in Libya. Lest we forget not the cries that made their way to our continental neighbor, awakening in Madison, a certain governor.

He and his new/old order sitting high atop in their penthouse suites looking down at the seething masses beneath. Hopped up on their crystal meth-it's-all-for me, deluding their bodies with a false sense of immunity and security. Their boardrooms are built on the bones of the vanquished, painted with the blood of the nameless. But those faces that have disappeared, those stories that perished to support the myth of the American dream, well they have legacies and tales that will reign supreme. 

And it is upon these stories, this wisdom that the growing mass below stand on one another, foot upon shoulder, foot upon shoulder, foot upon shoulder until what is built is the strongest and most noble soldier. And upon this soldier's broad frame I climb, upon this soldier's beating chest I am supported. I climb. And with this soldier's firm hands grasped around my ankles I feel the pulse of the people -- one thousand to the thousandth. I climb. They lift me and we rise higher than the tallest scraper of skies. I climb. 

I feel the moist, hot breath of the beast sinking down my spine. I climb. The air becomes thin, the light begins to fade, the journey into the belly of the beast is treacherous, and I light the way with freshly harnessed moonshine. I climb. Upon their door I stand, a dozen roses in my hand. We climb. Knock, knock, knock. Special delivery. We climb. A voice answers coldly. We climb. As I cross the threshold a wave of smoke and mirrors singes my throat and slices my eyes. We climb. And as this bundle of green and black and red makes its way into the fire, into the center of the corpse that will not hold, turning and turning in the widening gyre, things fall apart and roses are loosed upon the world. 

So gather 'round this fire that is burning my sistren, gather 'round my brethren. Gather 'round and plant roses. Plant roses in your homes, in your hearts, and in your dreams and witness as the dozens of black and red roses blossom in all their gentle ferocity, blossom through the blood streams. And as each succulent petal falls to the ground, with them the beast will fall, with them it all comes down. It's all coming down. It's all about now.